Gnome on the range endears himself to la jefa;
pile of style hairdo banned by royal decree in 1699

By Woncha Telmé Moore

Gnome, gnome on the range. This big-hearted little wrangler has endeared himself to la jefa of the big spread in a nearby county. His talents are many, and we hear he can yodel the dogies home.
Mr. Slick from the Crescent City has made quite an impression on the female patrons of ye olde neighbourhood grille. Me oh my oh, son of a gun, he's having fun on the bayou.
Conquista-Dora. Ever one for new conquests, this deb has not taken very well to the sobre nombre Belladona, the deadly nightshade.
Don't change horses in midstream. This adage, possibly suggested to Abraham Lincoln by an old Dutch farmer, is well applicable to the plight of Rickie Richazo who has been left by his companion of many years for a younger, more vigorous version of himself -- in fact, his younger cousin. Love hurts.
There's little apostolic about this doubting Thomas who can't seem to understand that his family is solidly behind the new changes and revelations in his life, all of them.
Fontange or what? Manita, we thought the big pile-of-style hairdo was reserved for debs and debs alone on that one big night. When I spotted this matronette at luncheon, I saw feathers, bows, and a large assortment of shiny ornaments in a gummed linen band. I thought the style was abolished for daylight by royal decree in France in 1699.
You could see the words frozen in air in the clubhouse locker, suspended and with frosty outlines, as the girlfriend from la casa chica said exactly the wrong thing in earshot of the wife. Como dijo the Greek dramatist Antiphanes de los pleitos del Plato, "As the cold of certain cities is so intense that it freezes the very words we utter, which remain congealed till the heat of summer thaws them, so the mind of youth is so thoughtless that the wisdom of Plato lies there frozen, as it were, till it is thawed by the refined judgement of mature age."
This Johnnycake (aka New England corn pone), though long-lasting, has turned out to be something rather flavorless that our traveling companions do not wish to pack into their saddlebags.
A neverending visitation of kith and kin keeps these newlyweds a little bit on edge.
The Lorelei of north Laredo, with her strange and distinct echoes filtered through tobacco smoke and branchwater, is a siren whose song lures the unaware to the dangers of heretofore uncharted love.
These old friends have been at odds, of all things, over the Mayflower Compact -- not the contract that was the rude beginning of American democracy, but the little jeweled and mirrored powder box that one says the other stole from her vanity.