Sometime in the mid-1970s, in a moment of unveiled candor that comes with old age, Grandpop told me that it was women’s legs that kept him up at night. And the way some girls’ heinies sat pertly atop them.
Naturally, he was fixated on graceful, dancing women in general and Ginger Rogers in particular. We had to sit quietly on the floor whenever she came on the Motorola.
Grandmother tolerated this because her legs were very long and very lean.
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