Hi there, guys and dolls! Whiz, bang, Friday… or, in your modern times, just another Blursday! Hang in there kittens, one day you’ll be let out of your pens again. But for now, don’t forget, I’m always here for you with my amazing miasma of muddled methodology of modern life. Let’s get to this week’s letters, shall we?
Dear Barbara Jean,
My husband Harry has gained a hankering for Hilda’s hula dancing. Since our last neighborhood Luau, he won’t even glance at me when I shake my grass skirt. All he does is go on about how Hilda really makes the sea-grass sway and mutters something about taking his hedge clippers to it. What’s a loyal wife to do?
Harried Hannah in Honolulu
Well, it’s not uncommon for a husband of many years to think someone else’s grass may look a little greener. Maybe the trick is to refresh your skirt and add a little sashay to your sway. Just lei one on him, and that should do the trick.
Every gesture tells a story, Barbara Jean
Dear Barbara Jean,
I am at my wit’s end. I am a nightclub chanteuse and now that it’s spring, as soon as I am deep in dreamland, all the birds outside my window make this horrible chirping cacophony and I can’t get back to sleep. I need fresh air and want to leave the window open, but the noise is driving me crazy. What’s your advice?
Irritated Iris in Iowa
Hmm, I wonder if your irksome irritation might be from wanting to hit the big time while singing your little heart out in the delightful small town middle of nowhere. Now I’m sure Iowa’s got a lot going for it, but a buzzing night life is not the first thing that comes to yours truly’s mind (don’t most mid-westerners get up with the birds, not against them..). Let’s try this – after trying your wild nightclub life, stay up and see the dawn in (nothing like walking home in your glammy evening gown with your kitten heels slung over your shoulder in the early light). Sing with the birds – make a kitschy, catchy tune with the warblers bringing in the chorus. You’re bound to have a city slicker number that’ll get you into Birdland. Then sleep away the afternoons. Nothing much happens then, anyway.
Here’s to your first Broadway lullaby, Barbara Jean
Keep your letters coming! I love to help or hinder any way I can.
Thanks for reading and stay tuned for more posts. And don’t forget to give my Poppy Cove Mysteries a try if you haven’t already.
Toodles, Barbara Jean