Fantastic Breasts & Where To Find Them

Deborah

October 17, 1922.

Hyacinth darling,

I insist that you come to Chester County next weekend, and do bring Kermit. The mixer with Dullpoint is going to be quite the rub. Chad might be there, and although I loathe to see him, he was a great hoofer. And I need a new dress to wear to the dance, and I don’t fit into any of my bloomers and I’m afraid I need an entirely new wardrobe. It’s horrible. I hate this Ashkenazi ancestry. I’m only nineteen and I look like a babushka. You’re a flapper and couldn’t possibly relate.

Nothing new to discuss on the Franklin front, I’m sad to report. I rarely see him on campus, and he barely acknowledges me if I do. The other day he was walking with an old janitor and all he did was nod when I greeted him. I’ve tried to stalk him, but for the life of me I can’t figure out where he’s staying. I’m worried that I was just a one-time fling for him. But he must remember how incredible it was! He seemed to truly love my odd little body, and if he wanted it I would let him have me again and again! I keep fantasizing about moving to London with him and having at least thirteen of his handsome English babies. I’m just devastated about the whole situation.

Also, he had access to some fine French champagne somehow, and the hooch we’ve been drinking is questionable at best. Karen and I got ossified on some panther piss last week and I completely blacked out. I woke up back in my room in Terdley Slonimb, so at least Karen got me home safe, but I need to be more careful with my poisons.

My dreams have gotten stranger, too. My recurring nightmares about breastfeeding ugly babies have gotten more frequent. I’m terrified I might be pregnant, but I won’t know for another few weeks. It’s probably another false scare.

Do come next weekend,

Deb.