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Judge, 1901-06-29 · page 15 of 21

Judge — June 29, 1901 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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Judge — June 29, 1901 — page 15: Judge, 1901-06-29

What you’re looking at

This is not a cartoon but a humorous essay by R.B. Munkittrich that satirizes women's habit of writing notes on unconventional surfaces due to poor memory. **The Setup:** A husband complains that his wife writes memoranda everywhere—on photograph backs, window-shades, even walls—because she fears forgetting things if she doesn't immediately jot them down. He facetiously suggests she maintain a "catalogue" to track where she's written various reminders. **The Satire:** The piece gently mocks a supposed female character flaw: scatterbrained forgetfulness and disorganization, contrasted with the husband's superior memory. The wife's angry but controlled response at the end suggests she's both offended and unable to deny the charge. **Historical Context:** This reflects early 20th-century gender stereotypes portraying women as emotionally volatile, absent-minded, and domestically disorganized—humor directed *at* women rather than at social absurdities. The piece exemplifies the magazine's satirical approach to gender relations.

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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

WOMAN’S MEMORANDA. By RB. K. Munkittrich, iT IS not my intention to inveigh against woman, or to hold her up to ridicule, even that kind which might be supposed to .ave a salutary effect on her, and find space- ate acceptance with editors. And yet will { say a word anent her and her eccen- trie habit of jotting down memoranda, not only upon her cuffs, .ke.a ran, but on all sorts of objects and in all sorts of places, like a woman, Perhaps it would be char- itable to say that the woman of ordinary experience and sagacity records anything she would preserve as soon as the idea oc- curs to her, lest it slip her memory and be lost forever. Thus it is that she will put down the address of a friend on the first thing she can lay hands on. I will speak from cxperience and say that I have fre- quently found names and addresses written on the backs of photographs and on the window-shades. When I recently found several on the walls, which were hard-fin- ished and unpapered, I must confess that I felt happy to the core, as I had only on the morning of that very day been blown up for having lighted matches for my cigarettes on the bosom of the same. I lost no time in retaliating, when I was told that I could light matches as well on my heel, while she might forget what she wanted to write down before she could find paper and thus be ex cused for writing on the adamant. “That probably is the reason,” I ven- tured to remark, “that you wrote all that stuff about what the passementerie and the chiffon would come to, on the hard, flat arm of the piazza-chair the otfier day. Of course, if you had attempted to record it on the tablet of your mind until you could go fora scrap of paper you would have forgotten it; and yet you say that I cannot remember anything from a face or a date to an um- brella. Now, what bothers me is to under- stand how you can remember just where you jot down these items. I should think you would have to make a catalogue for the purpose of keeping track of these things that are scribbled all over the place. If you haven't already done so, it would be a good idea to have one at once, from which you | could read something like this: * Margaret Murray's address on back of Rembrandt etching of the “ Three Trees.”' ‘Days of meeting of the Dramatic Art branch of Fortnightly Club on bottom of third drawer of chiffonier in blue room.’ ‘ Recipe for a swift bisque made cf a can of tomatoes and a quart of milk, for an emergency, on the inside back cover of bank-book.’ ‘List of books loaned, on fly-leaf of “Adam Bede.”"" * Prescription for strengthening hair, on left- hand inside panel of closet-door ia red room.’ Do you keep such & catalogue, my dear?” The tapping of the little satin slipper and the tightly-compressed lips bespoke the smouldering volcano that might burst forth in all its fine Vesuvian frenzy at any mo- ment; but, alas! it did not burst forth at al. Even as the athlete that is muscle- bound until his very strength is his weak- ness, so was she so mad that her anger couldn't vent itself, and it looked as if she rust seek relief in tears; but by a supreme efort she controlled herself, and, with a smile that was a triumph, she drew herself up to her utmost inch and, with a fine patri- cian air, remarked : “ And do I really write on everything?” “You do not, my dear. I will be per- fectly fair and frank with you. While you do write cn many things, you certainly do not write on everything: Many and many atime have I examined my white duck trou- sers before donning thém, to ascertain if the formula for angel-cake was tenderly in- scribed on either flank, and every time have I been disappointed. Before handing my commutation-ticket to the conductor to be punched every morning, I scrutinize it on both sides carefully to see if it bears some such legend as ‘Don't forget to get that cheese-cloth matched,’ and yet have I never found it so. You may not suspect it, my! dear, but nevertheless it is a fact that every morning for the past five years I have se- cretly examined the top of my head, expect- ing to see upon the bald spot something that you had jotted down with a crayon for future reference, during the night; but I have never found such a thing yet, and I am beginning to think that perhaps after all it is"— “Oh,-oh, oh!” she muttered as she clenched her little dimpled hand, “this is terrible!" * “But not so terrible as to be present and be compelled to see some cultured and refined friend open your edition de luxe copy of Shakespeare and read on the back of the etching jiilustrating the balcony scene in *Romeo and Juliet’ some such stuff as* Six eggs, one cupful of flour, the skin of one lemon, half a nutmeg, a pinch of cayenne pepper, a dash of sherry, and a little mace. Boil fifteen minutes over a quick firc, and serve hot.’ Do you know, when you do that, you serve me up hot, on a diamond- studded salver of solid Etruscan gold, to my friends?” i She glared, and seemed on the verge of exploding and taking the roof off as she scattered. “ This is a little too much !" she hissed ; “this is just-a little too much!" She looked as if about to tell me I didn’t love her or appreciate her many sac- rifices for my happiness and comfort; but she didn't. She simply said, as if she must say something and was at a loss to know what: “And so my memoranda are found everywhere, are they ?” “ Not everywhere, my dear—nat every- where. “There is one place—one sacred place—where they are never found, and only one.” “And where is that, pray?” she asked with a look of relief. “That,” I replied as pleasantly as 1 could, “is a memorandum-book. Here is one, with a pencil affixed. 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