Hi Tiger,
That's Sheila's line which she sometimes alternates with "Hi Stud" but she never uses either loud enough for the true recipient to hear ... Chicken!
In the upper right hand corner of your letter which I received today was:
333 DTG
(Counthing today, 30 October, through 31 August)
Does this post-dated letter indicate that I am not to expect any more until November?
Also, call me "Butch" again and you've terminated correspondence.*
I used to read your letters, dictionary in hand, unsuccessfully until I realized that I was misinterpreting your "r's" as the first part of "n." "Supenise" really threw me! I thought my handwriting had to be the world's worst when my friends kept asking me to use a typewriter.
There should be two letters waiting for you at Tan Son Nhut. I won't repeat any of the contents now because: 1. I don't remember and 2. it was only more trivia.
Do you now or will you soon live off base? What country does "country" refer to in the statement - "Where manning permits, they've been allowing 7 days leave and 7 days R&R in country.
I guess it's the same shit all over only with those of the medical profession the meaning can be taken a little more literally. However, I'm so FIGMO the stupidity of the Air Force doesn't bother me anymore.
Last week Sheila had a dream that she put me on a plane for San Diego -- might be. I'll wait for Nov. 1 for Stanford and then I guess they'll just never know what they missed.
My gray hair is quite noticeable now. I've already had the first, "Did you have your hair frosted?"
It's 2330 hrs and I have to stay awake until 0300 at least to condition the bod for graveyard. I wish I had a TV. I'm bored.
0210 hrs. I just wasted most of the night dyeing my fall -- rather unsuccessfully. It still has a reddish undertone but it may be suitable anyway.
Don't I have exciting things to write about?
Thank you for the long letter. I've reread the others until the flavor's gone, and I don't mind bitchy letters at all.
I'll bet your sunsets aren't as pretty as ours and besides we have nice moon-rises (ignore the hyphen). But there's no morning dew.
I wish you were here to rub my back.
Goodnight,
Little Sleepy Italian Boy
*My father had called my mother "Butch" in an earlier letter because she had cut her hair short and sent him a picture of it.
That's Sheila's line which she sometimes alternates with "Hi Stud" but she never uses either loud enough for the true recipient to hear ... Chicken!
In the upper right hand corner of your letter which I received today was:
333 DTG
(Counthing today, 30 October, through 31 August)
Does this post-dated letter indicate that I am not to expect any more until November?
Also, call me "Butch" again and you've terminated correspondence.*
I used to read your letters, dictionary in hand, unsuccessfully until I realized that I was misinterpreting your "r's" as the first part of "n." "Supenise" really threw me! I thought my handwriting had to be the world's worst when my friends kept asking me to use a typewriter.
There should be two letters waiting for you at Tan Son Nhut. I won't repeat any of the contents now because: 1. I don't remember and 2. it was only more trivia.
Do you now or will you soon live off base? What country does "country" refer to in the statement - "Where manning permits, they've been allowing 7 days leave and 7 days R&R in country.
I guess it's the same shit all over only with those of the medical profession the meaning can be taken a little more literally. However, I'm so FIGMO the stupidity of the Air Force doesn't bother me anymore.
Last week Sheila had a dream that she put me on a plane for San Diego -- might be. I'll wait for Nov. 1 for Stanford and then I guess they'll just never know what they missed.
My gray hair is quite noticeable now. I've already had the first, "Did you have your hair frosted?"
It's 2330 hrs and I have to stay awake until 0300 at least to condition the bod for graveyard. I wish I had a TV. I'm bored.
0210 hrs. I just wasted most of the night dyeing my fall -- rather unsuccessfully. It still has a reddish undertone but it may be suitable anyway.
Don't I have exciting things to write about?
Thank you for the long letter. I've reread the others until the flavor's gone, and I don't mind bitchy letters at all.
I'll bet your sunsets aren't as pretty as ours and besides we have nice moon-rises (ignore the hyphen). But there's no morning dew.
I wish you were here to rub my back.
Goodnight,
Little Sleepy Italian Boy
*My father had called my mother "Butch" in an earlier letter because she had cut her hair short and sent him a picture of it.
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