Marilyn Ward

My Boutique

Boutiques are still in. Boutiques are where the teenagers congregate on Saturdays, filling the place with exuberant cries of “Oh Danny, just cast your optics at this crepe two-piece—isn’t it just the sharpest thing for dancing the hornpipe?” They don’t all talk like that, but it’s ear-binding to hear those that do.

MARILYN WARD hears it all the time. She runs a boutique in Bournemouth and if you want to see how she looks in a couple of the most delightful outfits available here’s your chance.

We can’t describe them, we don’t have the designer’s highly involved details, but since seeing’s believing don't ask for descriptions.

When a zip runs it really runs, and when is a mini not a mini?

When it’s worn as a shirt. We don’t know if you prefer Marilyn or the dresses, we like them like crazy all together.

Dagmar Keller

Searching Look

"Please, may I look through your files?" asked DAGMAR KELLER of the basement library clerk.

"How can I say no?" replied the clerk faintly. "The only thing is I'm dead mortified I can't stay and help, only it's me lunch break and I've got a chick to share me hardboiled eggs with."

Off he went. It was hot and stuffy, so Dagmar shed a few things and with a fascinating searching look went in discovery of something we're a bit vague about ourselves.

It was all part of her secretarial duties.

The boss rang down from the sixth floor and said don't take all day. Miss Dagmar. He asked her if she wanted any assistance.

"No thanks, I'm not dressed for it”  said Dagmar blushingly.

"What's she talking about?" muttered the boss as he hung up.

This file was interesting. It was all about a consignment of desert island concubines who got seasick on the way back to Palmtree Paradise.

Search over. Dagmar cooling off. 

In came the library clerk full of hardboiled eggs to fall flat on his face.

So, would anyone.