A charming girl is never fat.
It's such a horrid word To say a friend of yours is fat Ts really quite absurd.
She may be svelte, or even stout, Perhaps more buxom, true. T've gained a pound_or two myself, And so, methinks, have you.
Plump as a partridge, or perhaps She's rounding out a bit. It's so becoming, don't you know, Just shows she's feeling fit I'll say she is a solid Miss But one must stop at that. I'd never tell a friend the truth That she was really fat.
But as "into all lives some rain must fall, some days be dark and dreary,'' as the poet sang before M. Coue came along to "assure him that every day in every way he was growing thinner and thinner, so there comes a time in every woman's life when a too-truthful pier glass, a super-candid friend or an unfeeling tailor reveals the painful truth that "Missy belong all same Number One fat lady." There comes a day when the gown that used to dangle as loosely from one's shoulders as from a clothes hanger now requires urging to receive the too-solid flesh, when a few draperies rot in the original design have to be introduced to hide the seams which have been let out in last winter's dinner frock and the good-as-new serge of last March has to be bestowed ion the deserving and thinner poor. Sometimes the disadvantages of poverty are not so apparent. The diet would hardly be fattening.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.