A Blonde In My Eyes

Addr: Miss Marjorie Hayne

Salem, Oregon
Febr. 10, 1942

Dear Marge:

Got your letter just a few moments ago, and if you felt a bit guilty on account of neglecting your study on first aid to write, you shouldn’t feel that way, because your writing to me was a form of first aid. I’m certainly thankful that you did take the time to drop me a line, because it sure seems like an awful long time since Saturday night. That was the night I got a blonde in my eyes. And if you think you “enjoyed yourself Saturday night! ––– Well, the enjoyment you had just couldn’t compare with mine. I nearly died while waiting for the dancing to start. I did enjoy the program, but not nearly so much as the dancing. I didn’t get to dance with you nearly as much as I wanted to at the dance Friday night. In fact, I don’t think I could ever dance with you enough. That Sgt. Hopkins sure stuck close to you that night, which suited him. Y’know, he tells me that he has carried a certain blue handkerchief with him ever since that night.

We didn’t do any dancing after we got home, but I relived some of the moments of the evening. I’d like to do that more often. I mean to be with you, dance with you, talk with you.

I shouldn’t mind so much the restriction on passes were it not for the fact that I’ve met you and want to see you and be with you. Don’t know how long it’s going to last, but I sure hope they loosen up soon and let us out for evenings. It does seem kinda silly to be corresponding with a person who lives but a few blocks from where I sit, but right now, that distance might as will be many miles.

I’m glad you enjoyed my letter, and let me assure you that yours was gratefully received. I’ve already read it twice, and undoubtedly will read it many more times before it wears out. And, believe me, I’ve enjoyed it. Even if it weren’t such a nice letter as it is, I’d have enjoyed it, because it’s from you.

You remember I told you that you looked like a little princess? Well, the more I think of it, the more I feel that way. I like the way you talk, the way you carry yourself –– oh, I could rave on for hours saying nice things about you, but I think I’d better save some of them until I can tell you personally. Wish I could have taken you to the show Sunday night, but Sherman was right, war is —-.

I’m certainly glad you answered as soon as you did, because I thought of you hundreds of times since Saturday.

Must close now, as I have to write home, or they’ll be a-thinking I was shipped to China, or someplace.

I hope to see you soon, very soon. At least, to be able to call you. I’ll be thinking of you, and hoping to see you again soon.


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