Sunday, July 19, 1942


Dear Diary,

I’ve got it bad, and that ain’t good. Every time I look at that picture of Bob Hope on my desk, it gets better and better, and I get it worse and worse. two years ago I would have said, “Sure, Bob’s my favorite movie star, but a year from now I won’t even know he ever existed.” But look at me now. Every page in this diary has something about him on it. I realize I’m just being silly about it, but I never did care for any boy in particular and now I’m just disposing lavishly of my emotions on that homely mutt.


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