Life, 1921-07-07 · page 8 of 34
Life — July 7, 1921 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a satirical short story by Dorothy Parker about a woman named Rosalind, introduced as the famous "uncrowned queen" of her social generation. The accompanying illustration shows a bridegroom in a carriage asking his bride why she married him—"That's what everybody asks me." The satire targets wealthy society women of the era who were celebrated for their social prominence but lacked substance. Parker's narrative mocks Rosalind's superficiality: she's known for dances, parties, and fashion rather than meaningful accomplishments. The bridegroom's question implies her marriage was as puzzling and hollow as her celebrity itself—suggesting satirically that even she cannot justify why she chose this life or this husband.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Once More Mother Hubbard As told by F. Scott Fitzgerald OSALIND rested her _nineteen- year-old elbows on her nineteen- year-old knees. All that you could see of her, above the polished sides of the nineteen-year-old bath-tub, was her bobbed, curly hair and her disturbing gray eyes. A cigarette drooped lazily from the spoiled curves of her nineteen- year-old mouth. Amory leaned against the door, softly whistling “Coming Back to Nassau Hall” through his teeth. Her young perfec- tion kindled a curious fire in him. “Tell me about you,” lessly. he said, care- y By DOROTHY PARKER He knew about her, of course. She was famous in their generation. Of dances, football games, and house-parties, she was the uncrowned queen. It was her good luck that, to date, no one had crowned her. “There’s nothing to tell,” she answered wearily, lighting another cigarette. It was a pleasure to watch the movement of her supple young wrist as she tossed the burning match on the floor. “The usual thing—fired from three or four schools—I forget their names. Finished with a year at Bedford. Then a round of dances, clinics, teas, back rooms, motor trips, prize fights—and through them all a clamor of dull, desirous men telling me how beautiful I am. I am a riot, aren’t I? In a one-piece bathing suit nobody can tie me. Father gives me ten thousand a year to dress on, and I manage to break about even on my crap-shooting. All I care about is knock- ing the conventions for a goal. I want to live—to live—” There was a gentle cough, and Mrs, Hubbard appeared apologetically at the door. “Rosalind, dear,” she interrupted, softly, “I think someone ought to feed Prince. He seems to be—” “Mother, what an old idiot you are,” said the girl quietly. She was youth and beauty. The Bridegroom: Tell me again, darling—why did you marry me? “That’s what everybody asks me.” comicbooks.com