Our mothers drank and smoked their way through pregnancy and we came out fine. Nice and small too, 7 pounds, 2 ounces, none of today’s turkey-weights. Why, in
A Farewell to Arms, Catherine’s even told to drink beer to keep her baby small. So, okay, she loses the baby, but arguably that’s because Ernest Hemingway lacked
afición for babies. Their sentences are too long. He must’ve liked kittens, though; his Key West estate houses Charlie Chaplin, Ragamuffin, a pocket-sized Audrey Hepburn, and many another cat with extra toes. Nowadays they’d be saying he gave their great-grandmothers little dishes of whiskey.
Image: Almost Famous Cats
No comments:
Post a Comment