Walking past those boxes of stuff we'd stashed up there, I just couldn't keep from checking them out. "Stuff" means spiral notebooks from college, bank statements from the '70's, leftover army gear from my six years in the military, and exquisite couple's photos from college banquets to which I'd been invited in the late '60's. I hated being invited to those things. Girls who otherwise were certifiably attractive would spend hours at the beauty shop getting their hair swirled into a turban shape and stacked like flapjacks atop their craniums. Then, in the style du jour, there would be a curly little strand dangling down in front of each ear, looking for all the world like pigs' tails.
It was almost as if the girls at the banquet were in a contest to see how high they could get their respective beehives. I wondered if all the guys felt as I did, that these weren't the girls we expected. They were aliens, visitors from planet Klimchock who had happened to land in Abilene, Texas for a night of frivolity. I sincerely hope some of them have recently visited their attics and seen the same pictures...and I hope they are aghast at what they see.