Poison Ivy

America's youth September 14th marked the opening day of school. To our Miss Brooks, who teaches English at Madison High, it was the day for which she had been fervently hoping. Yes, I'd been fervently hoping it would never come. It isn't that I just like school, it's just that I think vacation time is the greatest invention since the pilgrims and Phil Harris

discovered Plymouth and White Rock. But when my landlady, Mrs. Davis, called me to breakfast that morning my mood was far from Grimm for by that time I had convinced myself that facing a new term at school is not after all like returning to prison.

Good morning, Tommy. Good morning, Warden. I'm in the... No, no, no, no, no. Hand me the box of sweet bits, please. Oh, that's not sweet bits, Tommy. It doesn't matter. I like almost any kind of cereal.

Cream, please. Well, now, all right. Well, you are dear. What kind of cereal is this, Mrs. Davis? They're dog biscuits. Funny, that's the one kind of cereal that doesn't agree with me. I'm sorry, Connie. I should have ordered cereals from the market before you got up.

I usually get past delivery service, you know. That's because a delivery boy has a crush on me. But it's nothing like your romance with Mr. Boynton. You mean he's tried to get fresh with you?

No, but I haven't given up hope. That's probably Walter Den to drive me to school. Come in! Morning, Walter. Mark, this is the first day of school. And once again the nostrils of America's youth nostalgically dilate to the pungid aroma of pen-sawing black water.

How do you see the body, doll's wall, Terry? In miserable. How do you feel about school opening this book? Anyone for Russian roulette? Now, those are my sentiments, exactly. Oh, say, I found this pot of bread on your porch.