"So you were out shopping, eh?" gasped Mr. Newwed at dinner last evening, in their cozy new home on Columbus Avenue.
 "Yes, dear, and I want to tell you all about it."

 "I - I gave you $50. I believe," he murmured, swallowing a double allowance of cafe noit.
 "You did, Charlie, and that's just it. I started for the shopping district at 3 o'clock, and have been trotting up and down ever since. You have no idea how much we women have to contend with."
 "Humph! Tell me about the bargains."

 "There was a half-rate sale in one place; the loveliest goods you ever saw. So cheap, too. Then there was a 'knock out' counter in another store, where they were fairly giving things away. I never saw such bargains! Then there was a fire-and-water sale across the way, and the way things went was astounding. Then there was a 'clearing-out' sale in the next block. And a 'bankrupt sale' near by. And a 'marked-down list' only a block away. And a 'half-off' sale over on -- "

 "Great jumping Caesar's ghost!"
 "Yes, and I attended them all. Oh, such astonishing bargains!"

 "And I suppose that now I'll have to announce a 'half-rate' sale on my personal effects, and a 'knock-out' sale on my salary, and a 'closing-out' sale on my bank book, and a 'cast-off' sale with my uncle, and a 'gone-to-grass' sale on the kitchen fixtures -- just to equalize the pressure, eh?"
 "Charlie, you ungrateful wretch. I was about to say that I considered myself a jewel! After all the careful teachings of mamma, just as if I couldn't save your money, and --"

 "Well, they all say that."
 "I-I didn't buy a thing. Here's your $50 bill."

 "What's that?"
 "That's what I said!"

 "My angel," he gasped, dropping his fork, "forgive me, I have wronged you!"
 "I didn't use your money but I ordered a wagon-load of nice things and had them charged. So there!"

Contributed by Renée Plata

In Victorian times, gloves were regarded as keepsakes, to be passed from mother to daughter.

Since it was believed that the smaller the hand, the closer one was to nobility, women of the day did everything possible to fit their hands into the tiniest pairs. A variety of tricks helped, from glove stretchers to powder, to buttonhooks. Spending 45 minutes on each glove wasn’t the least bit unusual.

Matrimony and delicate gloves went hand-in-hand. If a gentleman caller bestowed a pair of gloves upon his lady friend, he was requesting her hand in marriage. Often a verse would accompany his gift. "If that from glove you take the letter "G", then glove is love and that I send to thee."

The hand depicted unwavering trust and loyalty. The way you put your hands and gloves communicated your intentions to your suitor. Placing the left glove over the right meant "I welcome your attentions," while holding both gloves in your left hand indicated the gentleman should "flirt elsewhere, please." When a woman pretended to put the left glove on her right hand, the poor young man had no chance at all … this gesture declared that he annoyed her. Happy was the fellow who noticed both gloves in the lady’s right hand and touching her left arm – she was telling him that she would rendezvous later. If she pulled her glove to it’s full length between both hands, his fate was even better … her love was completely true.

Contributed by Renée Plata

In 1886, this young woman started the first women’s club in Dallas. When they first met, they decided to study Shakespeare. This was a radical idea back then, however the 25-year-old "May" had attended Vassar, and she was considered a woman of standards. She was the club’s leader until her death 50 years later.

She married Henry Exall in 1887. He was as relaxed and fun –loving, as she was organized and proper. He purchased a farm where its northern boundary was a narrow dirt road overhung with bois d’arc trees perfect for lovers. May named it Lovers Lane. At the south was a road with a plethora of songbirds. May dubbed it Mockingbird Lane. Remember May as you travel one of these two roads.

Contributed by Renée Plata

For more information on May Exall go to the Handbook of Texas Online

Hats, long beloved by ladies everywhere, are once again becoming a fashion item.

As the 20th Century draws to a close, concerns regarding the environment and the effects of UV radiation have revived the use of hats as a simple but effective protection from the elements.

Hats, however, are much more than protective covering. Whether you are prim, proper, chic, elegant, sexy, sultry, playful or poetic, a hat can reflect who you are, or who you want to be - if only for a little while. 

Our new computer's Thesaurus gave us associated words for hat: beret, bowler, cap, derby, fedora, fez, panama, and sombrero. As an avid hat lover, each word brought an immediate visual image. But have only eight types of hat remained popular enough to be recognizable in 1993? Throughout history, hats have been an integral part of every society for protection and ornamentation. For centuries considered essential for daily wear, in the 1970's hats became a symbol of "the establishment", and were discarded in order to be "free."

The 1941 edition of Fund & Wagnall's New Standard Dictionary of the English Language took a full column of text to define hats. There were seven definitions, 35 associated words and 15 specific varieties given to define hats. By 1993, the only hat which had remained popular enough for fifty years to be referenced on a computer as a definitive example of a hat, was the Panama. 

Originally, the Panama was a man's hat. Used to shade a working man's or a gentleman's head from the searing heat and unending sun in the Republic of Panama, the hat became widely popular in 1880 when the French began work on the Panama Canal. By the time the Canal was completed in 1914, the Panama hat was a mainstay of a man's summer wardrobe. The ladies, who knew a good thing when they saw it, also embraced the Panama for spring and summer. Adorned with either the traditional grosgrain ribbon headband, or enhanced with satin streamers and sometimes flowers, ladies would don the Panama from Easer through Labor Day as a favorite.

With summer fast approaching, ladies will again be seen in beautiful straw Panamas which shade delicate noses from the Texas sun, and provide a mysterious aura to the wearer as she peers out from under the broad brim.

Contributed by Renée Plata

I've often heard that a lady had to be discrete about ladies' illnesses, and especially if she liked to take a nip or two from the bottle to help her cope. Her armoire that held all of her lovely dresses and hats might also be a haven/hiding place for a special elixir! The following story about Mrs. Pinkham will show you that at least one woman in the late 1800's, was not afraid to speak of such things.

Have you ever heard of Mrs. Pinkham's Magic Cure? Lydia Pinkham's home remedies made her rich, and turned her into a celebrity. She was a feminist who also happened to be a Victorian lady with a "man's head" for business. Born on February 9, 1819, in Lynn, Massachusetts, her parents believed that women could and should become competent businesswomen. In 1843, at the age of 24, she launched an informal debating society, The Freeman's Institute. Progressive Victorians, those who held "advanced" opinions on political issues like women's rights, often tended to be drawn to new ideas in other areas as well, from abolition to nutrition, what we now call alternative medicine, as well as other topics.
Lydia had always been interested in the teachings of the naturopaths, who taught that most patients would recover from illness or accident if nature was left to do its work without any interferences. For years she had been concocting her own herbal teas and potions. She believed that these, in conjunction with proper diet and sufficient exercise, could produce a sound body strong enough to resist disease. Her secret formula for the elixir was a vegetable compound and consisted of various quantities of true unicorn root, false unicorn root, life root, black cohosh, pleurisy root, and fenugreek seed. These herbs were dried and ground, soaked and softened in dilute alcohol.

In 1875, Lydia Estes Pinkham began cooking up this recipe on her kitchen stove. Her children helped bottle it, and her son Dan, devised a label bearing the image of his mother's kindly face. Lydia, at the age of 56, was about to be transformed from an unknown Massachusetts' homemaker into a celebrity and a brand name!
Many Americans had no access to, money for, or faith in doctors. When they were ill or in pain, they trusted their health to one of the hundreds of bottled cure-alls that were available in stores, from travelling peddlers, or by mail. By the standards of the day, Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound was mild and safe. But like anything new, it needed more than word-of-mouth advertising. Local people had already sampled her elixir and were singing its praises. To get the word out she needed publicity in newspapers and magazines.

Lydia began advertising in Boston newspapers in 1876. She invited women who were feeling weak and listless to try a bottle to two of her compound and write her with their comments or questions. This simple idea turned out to be a stroke of genius. Letters began pouring in, and they almost always glowed of enthusiasm. The letters kept pouring in. . . 100,000 a year on the average! No question, however, trivial, was ignored. And, because of the delicate nature of the topics, the company made the promise, which became part of their advertisements, that letters would be "received, opened, read, and answered by women only!
Had Lydia Pinkham really produced a miracle cure for women's health problems? Many modern physicians now recommend herbal remedies for some of the same symptoms that Lydia's customers took them for. However, it's also likely that the amount of alcohol in her mixture made its contribution to a patient's well-being. Women who never would have walked into a saloon, or even considered sipping a drink at home to calm their nerves, could turn to Lydia's potion without guilt. If they were soon feeling no pain, it's no wonder. In its heyday, Lydia cooked up her remedy strong. . . it was 17.9 percent alcohol, or 35.8 proof!

Contributed by Renée Plata