Life, 1927-07-21 · page 11 of 38
Life — July 21, 1927 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from *Life* magazine features "Week's End," a short story by Dorothy Parker. The illustration shows a chaotic scene with playing cards, cocktail glasses, and fashionably dressed figures scattered about—visual symbols of leisure, gambling, and the urban social scene of the 1920s-30s era. The story itself is satirical social commentary. The narrator, a woman, expresses anxiety about weekend plans—worrying about appropriate dress, hosting duties, and maintaining social appearances. Parker captures the superficiality and exhaustion of maintaining upper-class social obligations. References to Jamaica, houseguests, and complaints about "country" versus city life reflect concerns of wealthy Americans during this period. The satire targets the performative nature of leisure-class life and women's particular burden in maintaining domestic and social facades.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
I knew it would be terrible Only I didn’t think it would be as bad as this. This isn’t just plain terrible; this is faney. I should have sent a wire, yesterday. “Heart- broken not to be with you for week- end, but have just been stricken with cholera.” Cholera horse-thief, if you will, but she’s my mother. ‘That isn’t any good. It’s good enough for this party, though. ‘Too good for them. I wish I'd stayed at home I can't say no, that's the big trou ble with me Oh, Mrs.) Parker, won't you come out on the seven- teenth, for over the week-end? Oh, y of you to want me. T never said no in my life. T couldn't say no to a goose. No, that’s not right. — It's hoo that people aren't able to say toa goose. Well, I suppose they ar just as well off without it. Just be I KNEW I shouldn't have come I'd simply love to; it's so k cause you can say boo to a goose, that doesn’t entitle you to the mantle of Whistler. lu contraire. Look at me—versed in French, and expen- sively educated, and practically in the first flush of womanhood, and here I am, stuck down here on this filthy house-party, just because I can't say no. Amusin people, she said she was going to have here. If those were amusing people I saw on the porch, T am the three Sitwells. 1 thought I'd come to the wrong pla 1 thought the driver had let me out at a home for backward children Dotty’s Week-end in Moronia Fun Among Life's Misfits. going to be great, from now until or, Dorothy Parker Monday morning. I wonder if. I couldn't go home Sunday. [ wonder if I couldn't call up somebody and get them to send me a telegram: ‘Come at once will explain later.” I don't suppose Tl be able to get a crack at the telephone without every- body listening. [suppose im trapped until Monday. That will be a pretty trip in, Monday morn ing. Oh, doesn’t the country le charming, before the sun. is uy That change at Jama be nice in the early morning matter where I go, I always have to change at Jamaica. ‘They'd throw out the whole time-table, rather than htrain. 1 bet if I were on a non-stop transatlantic flight, wed change at) Jama That's all [ have to look forward te changing at Jamaica, ‘That's. my future, right there let me get a throug wear a guest-room this is! always get a room like this. They needn't think it's any surprise to me. Where shall we put) Mrs. Parker? Oh, let her have the Tron Maiden, She won't care I be so glad to get out of the hot city. I bet I could have blindfolded my eyes, and named the pictures on the walls of this room before I'd crossed the threshold. “Lorna Doone’ and “The Girl with the Fan” and “Sir Galahad.” There they are. | won der how they came to overlook Watts’ “Hope.” Maybe it’s. away having its frame fixed. Good thing for it, if it is. I'm just in form to bust its glass for it. “Maybe I could take a couple of socks at “Lorna Doone” while Pm here. VM be here until Monday morning. That's fifty six hours. Oh, my God wear shall I wear for dinner? I'd betternot breakout the violet dress, That young man in the hiero glyphic sweater has me all. picked , Tight now, to spill highballs on I could tell the look in his eyes the minute To ecame in. 1 never knew anything like it No matter where there's always some clean-limbed all over God's en footstool, laddie waiting to upset highballs on me. That's my sex life. Oh don't: bother about it—it’s nothing but an old dress, anyway; you can't do ita bit of harm, Vd better start rehearsing that now That hiero glyphic boy looked to me as if he'd be at the spilling st in anywhere from fifteen to twenty minutes. Yes, and I know the whisky they have in this house, too. White Hearse itch. Tf he spills one of those balls on me, PM be searred for life. Oh, please don’t trouble—you couldn't hurt this old dress if, you tried. You big stiff! Dinner is ving to be pretty I know all about it, right now. On my right, there'll be one of these outdoor boys, that will tell me all about dry-fly fishing. Oh, it must be simply fascinating; T wish you'd just take me alon you. Wouldn't y and let me watch i, some time? Td know how to talk to those trout boys. ‘There's an raphy! And on my left, PH have some comicbooks.com |