I know, you've missed me and all, but I've been sewing like mad for Gypsy Caravan and the Rock and Roll Craft Show at the end of May. Oh yeah, and I've been at work. I'm seriously considering taking tomorrow off, but I probably won't.
March 27, 1987
Dear Susan ( I hate that name!)
I have the hiccups. Hee cups, as L. says it. Tonight we went up to Quakertown to Central Tractor Farm and Family. It is so hick! The clothes were all mens' jeans. Daddy was slightly drunk tonight.
By "slightly", I probably meant he was singing "Starry, Starry Night'" to the cat while laying on the floor. I distinctly remember describing things as being better than they were. And notice how I wrote "Daddy" instead of "Dad"? Yeah, things that night were probably bad.
Quakertown was the breeding ground of not only open-minded abolitionist Quakers, but also mullets, fringed/beaded "Seaside Heights '87" t-shirts, and white trash. I'm glad we moved before I got any older than 10. Who knows how many kids I'd be chasing around now? Is it environment or how one is raised that affects one's future life?