Dear Diary,

Mother and I went to East Texas to see Daddy Pat this afternoon. I hated to leave that certain picture of a certain Mr. Bob Hope, but I was afraid something would happen to it down there, so I left it on my desk. I often wonder if, after I’m asleep, he doesn’t come out of that post and lie down. I know I’d get tired if I had to spend years learning on one arm, even if it did just happen to be in a picture.

Mother and I arrived at Hughes Springs at 7:30 this evening. We didn’t start ’til 3:30.

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.

Dear Diary,

Jean saw Tyrone Power in “This Above All” today. She is now claiming she likes him more than I like Bob Hope. Well, she has to prove it to me. I’ll believe her when she gets seven hundred pictures of him, sees his pictures an average of seven times each, buys every magazine with anything about him in it, and listens to the radio every spare minute just to see if she can hear anything about him. When she does all those things because of Tyrone Power just as I do them because of Bob Hope, I’ll believe her, but until then I shall bide my time to see just how long she will like him.