Dorothy’s Place: For Your Benefit

By Dorothy Denne

Apparently by 1921 cousin Pete was not publishing his column PETE SEZ on a regular basis. His heading said, “Published every now and then for the benefit of those who read it.” After these many years of writing Dorothy’s Place weekly, maybe I should think about that. In the meantime, while I’m thinking, here are a few more of his little goodies for your benefit.
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Burdick says one advantage in being fat is that you never have to worry whether you have a shine or not; you can’t see your shoes anyway.
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Did you ever notice that a young fellow who always has a lot of girls runnin’ after him always marries the plainest lookin’ one of the bunch?
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If any of us in our false pride sets himself above his position or above the organization of which he is a unit, he is just feeling, not thinking.
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Often by the time a board of directors gets through eating lunch and telling funny stories to each other, they haven’t much time left to direct.
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Did it ever occur to you that the country boy who leans heavily on a pitchfork handle usually gets a job teachin’ school and from that drifts on into law?
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Judging by the modern (remember,1921) washing-machine advertisments a woman puts on her party clothes these days when she goes down into the basement to do the family wash.
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Nature insists that we adapt ourselves to conditions or change the conditions—take your choice.
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“A dollar saved is a dollar made.” Then where’s the dollar?
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Lots of men expect opportunity to carry a letter of introduction.
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If speeches came first and the eats last, there wouldn’t be many banquets.
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Everyone has some love of truth–in the other fellow, if not in himself.
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Kindness and courtesy would be seen oftener if some people didn’t mistake the former for weakness and the latter for cowardice.
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We do not exist for ourselves alone. Our positions do not exist for us alone–it is only as we relate to others and are of service to them that we have positions.
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The barber, endeavoring to get in conversation with his customer, asked how he wished to be shaved. The reply came, “In silence.”
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“Willie, let me hear you count up to ten.”
“One, two, three, five, six,eight,nine,ten.”
“Wrong! you skipped two numbers.”
“Well, that’s the way my father counts.”
“Is your father an expert accountant?”
“No’m. He sells gasoline.”
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The reporter was sent to write up a charity ball. His copy came in late and it was careless. The editor reproved him the next day by quoting an extract. “Look here,” the editor said. “What do you mean by this?–‘Among the most beautiful girls was Alderman Horatio Dingley.’ Old Dingley ain’t a girl, you idiot! He’s one of our principal stockholders.”
“I can’t help that,” returned the realistic reporter. “That’s where he was.”

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