I am pleased for the opportunity to share my words with you through the magnanimous generosity of The National Night Stick; I pray my counsel will be wise and useful to you all.

Many have told me they think it folly to be dispensing advice to young ladies in a magazine so clearly crafted to a man’s point of view. I can only observe that my detractors know very little of today’s young ladies, for who among these little darlings has not sneaked into father’s study for a glimpse at the great boxers, shirtless in their tight drawers, flexing their muscles on the pages of the Night Stick? Or bashfully thumbed through a copy at the newsstand, for a look at the glamorous stage actresses and the sporting men who court them. Though they may not speak of it openly, women of all ages are drawn to such publications. The late Mr. Pennyroyal took a subscription to the National Night Stick and I daresay I got as much enjoyment from the paper each week as he did. No, today’s young ladies may blush at the mention of murder, crime, and scandal, but they are drawn to these stories and seek them out on the sly. While I applaud their courage and pluck, are they not the very girls in need of guidance to prevent overindulgence of these passions?

Before I go on, I must clarify that when I refer to the “late” Mr. Pennyroyal, I do not mean to imply that the old fool is dead. He went out one afternoon to buy cigars, telling me he would be home by dinner, and he has never returned. This was some years ago; the man is decidedly late.

We were somewhat advanced in years when we wed—I had been twice widowed and Mr. Pennyroyal had been married before (though he seldom spoke of it, perhaps another forlorn woman awaits his return from the tobacconist)—but we were as giddy as school children when we first met. He took me dancing and dining, champagne and oysters at every meal, and I took the man to be quite wealthy. I will admit that he was not much to look at, but as a lover, he was quite accomplished and, at times, even adventurous. When he proposed I gladly accepted.

We were not married long, however, before my new husband began to show his true colors. If he had any money he kept it well hid and was perfectly happy to live off my savings. The lovemaking came to an abrupt halt as well. In fact. he did little but sit on the sofa reading the box scores and smoking his foul cigars (which look looked and smelled much like something from the cat’s box). When he spoke at all it was of baseball; all of those grown men with their silly epithets—Rooster and Squirrelly and so on. You would think that a man who loved the sport so much would occasionally go out and actually watch a game (although I saw a baseball game once and I daresay I shall never need to see another,) but no, Mr. Pennyroyal never left the house but to buy more of those awful cigars. When he failed to return the last time I shed no tears.

But I can hear my audience now, crying out in chorus, “Mrs. Pennyroyal, how can we trust your advice when you cannot hold on to a husband yourself.” Here is my first piece of advice, ladies and girls, resist the temptation to spend all of your energy on finding a husband. When proposals come (and they will) take each one seriously – Lord knows I’ve never refused one—but it is the time between husbands that I have always savored. Young boys are encouraged to “sow some wild oats” before marrying. Why should not a girl be advised so as well? Maybe not to the extent of actually sowing the oats, but, if I may belabor the metaphor a bit, tilling the soil from time to time keeps the land fertile.

Men are no different than trains (and you literary girls must forgive me as I leap from metaphor to metaphor without the slightest glance back; and forgive me as well for asking—don’t you think this incessant nitpicking is at the heart of your problems?) Yes, men are no different than trains; if one leaves without you, another will be along shortly. Take out your handkerchief and fondly wave adieu to the one you have missed, then stand demurely on the platform and await the arrival of the next. This has always worked for me.