3160. This created a perplexing question. I had already made up my mind that when I grew up none of my time was going to be devoted to household tasks. perhaps once a year I would sweep up, and do some laundry. The rest of the time I would do something else, I had no idea what. But I was frightened by Jason’s house, especially the food caked on to the side o f the refrigerator, and all over the stove.
I could see that one had two choices; either live like a pig in a pig
sty, like the Jason, or else spend my life vacuuming and cleaning up.
My visit to the Sweet residence had serious repercussions for me, but
the question of whether or not I was going to spend my life washing up
was not the big problem. No, there was a huge difficulty that I have
yet to mention. There was something about Mrs. Sweet herself, which I
was compelled to think about from that day on, practically without a
letup, and that was something about Mrs. Sweet’s figure.
3163. My Mother and my Aunts also had the same sort of aspects to their figures and so did the dental hygienist who cleaned my teeth once a year. So did the principal’s secretary at my school, the principal’s secretary whom we had nicknamed Mrs. Torpedoes. It was an apt nickname, and if ever a person deserved to be called Mrs. Torpedoes, it was she.