Modern Screen (Jul-Dec 1945)

Teach your friends how to tell FIBS ! ...F/8S have rounded ends for easy insertion GIRLS who prefer tampons find two excellent reasons to prefer FIBS ! First, those smooth, gently rounded ends. Anybody can see,at a single glance, that FIBS must be easy to insert. And your first experience with FIBS proves it's true ! Second, FIBS are "quilted"— & feature fastidious women are quick to appreciate. This "quilting" prevents cotton particles from clinging to delicate internal membranes. Also, this quilting contributes directly to your comfort— keeps Fibs from fluffing up to an uncomfortable size, which might cause pressure, irritation, difficult removal. No other tampon is quilted! Next time you buy tampons be sure to ask for FIBS*! *T. M. Rear. U. S. Pat. Off. one day when, quite by accident, they overheard the conversation of two extra players. One girl was saying to another, "I can't boil water without burning it. Really, I'm totally helpless in a kitchen, I can't even fry an egg." The other girl, not to be outdone in reverse domestic virtue, said, "I burn myself and spill things and break dishes and generally create havoc in a kitchen. I'm strictly a career girl, I guess." On the way home that night, Elizabeth broke a long silence to observe to her mother, "I don't think being useless in a kitchen is anything to be proud of, do you? I mean, why shouldn't everyone know how to go into a kitchen and prepare an appetizing meal? We don't ever know when it might be very necessary to know how to cook well." "That's right," agreed Mrs. Taylor. lookie at cookie . . . "And besides, it's feminine to know those things. I think every girl should be able to be a homemaker . . . even if she is a career girl." So Elizabeth is learning how to make light bread rolls, several different kinds of cake, salads, and how to cook vegetables properly. So far she hasn't had a serious failure, so it would appear that her future husband is going to be robbed of that bridal biscuit gag. One of Elizabeth's best friends is the daughter of a tremendously wealthy family; she is a girl who has, literally, everything, yet she is required to perform the same household tasks as Elizabeth is. Also, she takes care of the simple mending of her clothes; when a dress needs to be shortened or lengthened, this girl is perfectly capable of attending to it. Recently, Elizabeth, accompanied by her mother, bought two lightweight frocks for summer. Both dresses needed to be shortened for Elizabeth, so she persuaded her mother to pin in the hem, then Elizabeth settled herself with needle and thread and ran a fine seam. A third girl friend arrived in the midst of this work and demanded pityingly, "Does your mother make you do your own sewing? Gosh, MY mother does all those things for me. You and Mary sure have your troubles." "My mother doesn't MAKE me do any of the things I do around the house," Elizabeth said easily. "I like to have responsibility, and that's the way Mary feels about it, too. We think it's womanly to know something about domestic tasks." The following afternoon all THREE of ■ the girls spent in shortening slacks and sewing on buttons. Elizabeth's taste in clothing is something over which the Kodacolor cameramen drool. One outfit consists of a pair of purple slacks, a chartreuse blouse, and a chartreuse sloppy joe. Another is made up of silver grey slacks, a coral blouse, and a coral sloppy joe. The last time she counted them, she had 30 sweaters, some in matching sets, some singletons, but her favorite ensemble is a pair of russet frontier pants, western high heeled ridingboots, a yellow blouse, yellow ascot, and a russet fringed suede vest. Her favorite dress-up dress is summersky blue silk on which are hand painted a herd of wandering, cottony clouds. It's really dreamy. The rest of her skirted wardrobe is mainly peasant, with white blouses and full skirts decorated with wide bands of color and rainbow ric-rac. She is parting her hair just now from the middle of her forehead to the nape of her neck with the hair brought upward from the temples and a hank of yarn braided into a plait on each side of her head and crossed over to meet in the middle. Mrs. Taylor, catching her before the mirror one morning completing this coif fure, shook her head slowly. "I don't think so, dear. It's pretty, but honestly I think it's a iittle too mature for you. Not old, exactly, but just a trifle too grown up." "May I wear it this way today while you think it over?" Elizabeth, the diplomat, wanted to know. Mrs. Taylor said, "Well, all right." They stopped in a shop in Beverly Hills to check the blouse situation, and Mrs. Taylor's conversation with the salesgirl was interrupted by her daughter's joyous request, "Please turn around, Mother!" About four feet away stood two little girls, one about six, the other about eight. Their hair was combed exactly like Elizabeth's, yarn and all. "Too mature?" queried Elizabeth. Mrs. Taylor grinned. "It's very becoming to them — and to you, dear," she said, giving in gracefully. People who know Elizabeth well are convinced that she never walks; she runs. Everything must be done in a hurry, life is short, there is excitement everywhere, nothing can be missed. So — on one of her streaks from sound stage to school room — Elizabeth tripped over some lurking object, fell on her foot and broke one of the tarsal bones. She was rushed to a doctor who took X-rays and committed the foot to a cast, "And there, young lady, it will have to remain for at least two months. Come back in. three weeks and we'll see how you are getting along." Pictures taken at the end of three weeks time indicated that the break was healed. However, the doctor thought that she should use crutches for several weeks. "What if she won't use the crutches?" asked Mrs. Taylor. milk maid . . . "She will because the foot will pain her," said the medical man. "The reason she has recovered so rapidly is her love of milk — her system really produces the calcium needed for fast repair, but I don't think the repair will be so fast that she will give up her crutches for a long time." She discarded them at the end of a week. Currently they are gathering dust in the garage and Elizabeth hasn't even suffered a twinge since. There are six girls in the immediate vicinity of the Taylor home, so they recently organized a slumber party to be held at Elizabeth's. For dinner they had four hamburgers and two hot dogs each, then settled down for a long, complicated gab session. They talked about boys — "not very interesting, but our ideas may change" — about dogs, horses, clothes. Dick Tracy, L'il Abner, good places to go bicycling, and the summer vacation. Elizabeth scorched everyone with envy when she announced that within a week her family was leaving for a month in Wisconsin where her uncle owns an estate embracing several lakes. At midnight the girls decided the time had come to raid the icebox. They tiptoed downstairs, giggling, and viewed the larder. Mrs. Taylor had anticipated them with a huge bowl of potato salad, cold fried chicken, and fruit. The girls looked at the marvelous, beautiful food. Then they looked desperately from one to the other. They were too filled with hamburger and hot dogs to eat a bite. They slipped back upstairs and turned in, after having sworn a solemn oath to meet every year on the same night for another slumber party. "To compare notes about our futures," Elizabeth said. One of the girls giggled, "And next year, maybe you'll be able to pronounce 'linoleum.' " Elizabeth is inclined to call it "niloleum" or "niloneum." No matter how she pronounces floor covering. Elizabeth is pronounced adorable