Annual December Dance

Friday night Madison High School held a annual December dance for students and faculty. But up to Thursday, all Miss Brooks, who teaches English at Madison, hadn't received an invitation from any of the male members.

That's because they all more or less took it for granted, but I'd go with Mr. Boynton. The best for one must have taken it for granted too, but I wasn't worried. I knew that come the day of the dance, he'd asked me quicker than you could read the Danish translation of of from here to eternity.

When it was confident he'd come through though. In fact, I could practically see as leaving for the dance together, he and his herringbone suit and me and the pink catheter, just like the year before and the year before, the year before.

Or as my land lady put it last Thursday at breakfast, Annie, every time the December dance rolls around, you and Mr. Boynton, the nine-year Sunday class. I always know what you got to wear. Well, that's going to be changed this year, Mrs. David.

At least Mr. Barney's changing. We passed the sharing department store together last Monday and he pointed out the new blue third suit he was getting right about you, Connie. Well, there was a gorgeous evening down in the next window and I impulsively bladed out that I was going to buy it.

It's a beauty, Mrs. David. So rich looking. It's looking. It's backless, crackless. I didn't even give it to Connie. I'm moneyless. It costs almost a hundred dollars, Mrs. Davis. Twenty-five dollars. I could've made it twenty-five dollars, Connie.

You could? If you paid me the back rate, you owe me. Like I say, I'm moneyless. Oh, that's too bad. You could use a new fur jacket to Connie. I know. I know that for a death of mine looks as if it were made out of old mice pelt.