"As a student at Berkeley, I was initiated into a women's honor society in a ceremonial that required each girl to wear a white formal and a gardenia corsage, and to carry a lighted candle. Who doesn't get stuck in false positions. Who hasn't been through stupid rituals?"
Yesterday on Facebook I posted an update on the news of the death of Gale Storm. (I know, I know, everybody is dying these days. My grandfather would say, "People are dying who never died before.") In a response to an old friend's response, I wrote the following sentence:
"I am proud of you knowing Gale Storm (always called perky Gale Storm)."
Now look at today's obituary in the NYTimes. It starts off as follows:
"Gale Storm, the Texas-born actress who made wholesome perkiness a defining element of television's golden age...died Saturday...."
What do you think of that, eh? Did I call it or not? Eh?
Now ponder being a person for whom a single adjective is a requirement for an entire life. And how would you like having "perky" as your personal adjective. I think you can be perky as a teen, and also as someone in her eighties, but there must be long years in between for which "perky" is a massive burden. Better than my own adjective, though. Grumpy.