The ’70s Again. (Naturally.)
Oh, here we all are. Together again. Naturally.
Yes, just us and the ’70s.
Yes, just us and some ultra-smooth threads.
I see stripes high-fiving with plaid. I see polyester jive-talking with wool.
And I see a lot of sharp collars that could pierce an organ (if you’re not careful). And a lot of bell-bottomed pant legs that could catch in your bicycle spokes and cause you to be flung to the pavement (if you’re not careful). And then you could pierce an organ on your sharp collar as you land on the pavement. And then plenty of men here look to be attorneys who could sue the owner of the pavement. And then plenty of men here would tell you to stop riding your bike while you’re high. Because we were all high. Because, after all, it was the ’70s.
Undoubtedly, the grooviest kid in the joint is the one clutching her stuffed dog, Bart.
You know you were thinking that.
I have a hunch there was a tantrum behind Bart. And Bart was either the problem or the solution. Probably a little of both. But guess what, she’s smiling. So let’s keep Bart in there.
On the other hand, I’m all but certain that Big Bart continued to cause Big Trouble.
Because I’m sure there were plenty of:
“Hey, if she gets to have Bart, then why can’t I hold my Thor hammer?”
Or, “Hey, then why can’t I wear my Farrah Fawcett t-shirt?”
Or, “Hey, then why do I have to put out my cigarette?”
Or just, “Hey, hey, hey. It’s Fat Albert.”
Because we all liked that show. But who didn’t. Because, after all, it was the ’70s.
The quintessential ’70s theme song: