Bah!
Letter to Brian Young, October 5, 1920
Dear Brian,
You really mustn't pass on my thoughts to mother, I thought you more loyal than that. I get letters from her almost daily, scribbled in dreadful and fretful tones of worrisome woe that her baby boy will never find himself a proper lady. She's been constant in her reminders to refrain from turning to sordid solutions, an idea no doubt planted by you. While the thoughts of walking into the redder quarters of the city have flitted through my mind, she needn't worry about her son straying into any sinful houses.
I think you will find it especially amusing to hear that I did ask a young lady to join me for a show a week ago, a move not often chanced on account of my gutless nature. You know all too well how craven I am when it comes to women, you never stopped reminding me of it in school. The lady is one Julia Stark, a family of modest station living several blocks away from my flat. She is a shy girl, just the type for me, hiding a sharp wit and intellect behind her doeful nature. I have been a mere acquaintance of sorts for several months now, seeing her in cafes and around the university. Our conversation has always been light and pleasant, moving constantly from mere humor to the most serious discussions of philosophy.
I had not seen her in over a week so I found it necessary to drop a letter by her house, as her father is never kindly upon letting young gentlemen indoors without a chastity belt. Her reply came several days later, expressing an interest but showing no sign of the hope I had written into my own letter. When the night of our first outing arrived I came to her door only to find that she was just about to leave with her usual train of girls, heading for a club. She had been confused by the day of our engagement, claiming that she thought it was the next Friday that we would be meeting. I was very nonplussed by the mistake but I was of course quite congenial and courteous, knowing the error was an honest one. I traded the tickets for Morton’s keys to his Citroen for the night and treated myself to a drive.
After the first error, I felt that we were back on track to a second and hopefully far more successful attempt. I sent her another letter, when it did not get any replies, I tried calling upon her at home with only her frumpy father to wave me off. I was beginning to feel a scent of trouble until I finally saw her in the halls of the university. She seemed skittish and ambiguous in her presence, I spoke to her only shortly before she quickly took off and disappeared around the corner. I wished for a harpoon to appear in my hands so that I could drag her back, but as luck would have it God did not grant me anything of the sort that day. The girl was driving me mad, but it was a minor itch in the back of my mind until her short note arrived at the door. She had written very quickly and hastily, apologizing for her behavior and telling me that I had been too aggressive in my approach.
This statement nailed me to my seat. Too aggressive? I thought back hard, realizing that my insistence could easily have taken a strange hue in her eyes, making me look a shadowy character. I could begin to understand how she saw this as too aggressive, but it didn’t feel aggressive at all to me. This was a push of effort unseen by the likes of Gigham Young in all his romantic life. You know as well as I that my inclinations and inspirations with women has had all the momentum of molasses and the weight of a tidal wave of cotton balls. To hear that this cottony slop was in danger of smashing the seawall itself was astounding. I suppose my inexperience would lead me to take my endeavor in a poor direction or perhaps I misread the lady. After years of letting interested ladies go off into the arms of other men in frustration, I was defeated by what should have been the turning point for Gigham Young.
As you have already guessed this unrejecting rejection sent my mind into a wild tailspin of feverish thought, wondering if I should give up the fight and collapse back to the safety of the fort. Now I am unsure of what move I should make, to charge ahead or to fall back? At the moment time is the only factor I can rely on. Whatever may come, I will keep you informed of my movements. And don’t go talking to Mother, she’ll only start writing wedding plans.
Your Inconceivable Brother,
Gigham Young
Dear Brian,
You really mustn't pass on my thoughts to mother, I thought you more loyal than that. I get letters from her almost daily, scribbled in dreadful and fretful tones of worrisome woe that her baby boy will never find himself a proper lady. She's been constant in her reminders to refrain from turning to sordid solutions, an idea no doubt planted by you. While the thoughts of walking into the redder quarters of the city have flitted through my mind, she needn't worry about her son straying into any sinful houses.
I think you will find it especially amusing to hear that I did ask a young lady to join me for a show a week ago, a move not often chanced on account of my gutless nature. You know all too well how craven I am when it comes to women, you never stopped reminding me of it in school. The lady is one Julia Stark, a family of modest station living several blocks away from my flat. She is a shy girl, just the type for me, hiding a sharp wit and intellect behind her doeful nature. I have been a mere acquaintance of sorts for several months now, seeing her in cafes and around the university. Our conversation has always been light and pleasant, moving constantly from mere humor to the most serious discussions of philosophy.
I had not seen her in over a week so I found it necessary to drop a letter by her house, as her father is never kindly upon letting young gentlemen indoors without a chastity belt. Her reply came several days later, expressing an interest but showing no sign of the hope I had written into my own letter. When the night of our first outing arrived I came to her door only to find that she was just about to leave with her usual train of girls, heading for a club. She had been confused by the day of our engagement, claiming that she thought it was the next Friday that we would be meeting. I was very nonplussed by the mistake but I was of course quite congenial and courteous, knowing the error was an honest one. I traded the tickets for Morton’s keys to his Citroen for the night and treated myself to a drive.
After the first error, I felt that we were back on track to a second and hopefully far more successful attempt. I sent her another letter, when it did not get any replies, I tried calling upon her at home with only her frumpy father to wave me off. I was beginning to feel a scent of trouble until I finally saw her in the halls of the university. She seemed skittish and ambiguous in her presence, I spoke to her only shortly before she quickly took off and disappeared around the corner. I wished for a harpoon to appear in my hands so that I could drag her back, but as luck would have it God did not grant me anything of the sort that day. The girl was driving me mad, but it was a minor itch in the back of my mind until her short note arrived at the door. She had written very quickly and hastily, apologizing for her behavior and telling me that I had been too aggressive in my approach.
This statement nailed me to my seat. Too aggressive? I thought back hard, realizing that my insistence could easily have taken a strange hue in her eyes, making me look a shadowy character. I could begin to understand how she saw this as too aggressive, but it didn’t feel aggressive at all to me. This was a push of effort unseen by the likes of Gigham Young in all his romantic life. You know as well as I that my inclinations and inspirations with women has had all the momentum of molasses and the weight of a tidal wave of cotton balls. To hear that this cottony slop was in danger of smashing the seawall itself was astounding. I suppose my inexperience would lead me to take my endeavor in a poor direction or perhaps I misread the lady. After years of letting interested ladies go off into the arms of other men in frustration, I was defeated by what should have been the turning point for Gigham Young.
As you have already guessed this unrejecting rejection sent my mind into a wild tailspin of feverish thought, wondering if I should give up the fight and collapse back to the safety of the fort. Now I am unsure of what move I should make, to charge ahead or to fall back? At the moment time is the only factor I can rely on. Whatever may come, I will keep you informed of my movements. And don’t go talking to Mother, she’ll only start writing wedding plans.
Your Inconceivable Brother,
Gigham Young