Duchess of Earl...

I always wanted to be somebody’s Duchess of Earl.

I wasn’t sure what it meant, I just knew it would mean I was special. I was a young girl, not even a teen yet, but the song resonated with me. I could picture myself with ratted hair, flipped up on the ends, “Cleopatra eyes”, a slinky a-line dress, and stilettos, dancing with my Duke of Earl.

It isn’t the easiest song to dance to, but it is fun to sing. Or try to sing. It has minimal, if any, redeeming value. It is just fun. And back then, life was a lot more fun. Or so it seems, in retrospect.

Life was simpler. Life was easier to understand. A huge problem was something devastating and life-altering…..like say, a pimple. Or a bad hair day. Or not having shoes that were “dyed to match” your party dress.

Love was lovelier. Wearing your boyfriend’s ring on a chain around your neck. I remember the girls, in class, who would hold the chain and make the ring twirl on the end of it. It was as if they were saying “I have a boyfriend and you don’t!” Boyfriends took you to the school dances. They carried your books between classes. They put their arm around you when you walked, or held your hand. If you were lucky, you were dating a letterman and you got to wear his letterman sweater.

Goals were more understandable. Guys went to college, got degrees, found jobs, got married and supported their families. Gals went to college to get their MRS. Degree. Found a husband, had the big wedding, had a couple of kids, and stayed at home and raised them.

And the newspaper “society page” ran stories about Fiftieth Wedding Anniversaries, complete with pictures of the happy couple now, and then. Everybody had a mom and a dad at home.

Our lives were ahead of us, we were free, and indomitable, and the best there had ever been…..

We were the Dukes and Duchesses of Earl….