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Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s

Page 057

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me for breakfast. It was the last straw. With reason I was deeply incensed. I pushed the repulsive dish away with distaste and disgust. "Fried potatoes? I can't eat that stuff and they know it," I said you have a baked potato for me?" With that I went to the dietitian in the auto-room in tears of frustration. "You are supposed to have a baked potato for me. There is none. I can't eat those fried ones," and I dissolved in weeping. "Don't get all upset. You will have to eat something otherwise you will be all nervous and worn out. You are all nervous now." "You would be too," I told her, "if you had a stomachache all night and then have fried potatoes shoved at you for breakfast, when you could eat little of any thing." "I am sorry that is all we have for you but we can have a baked potato for you at eleven, if you care to come back then." "I will be back," I replied and I was. One noon I went into the diet kitchen for my potato. There was even some lemon jello for me which looked inviting and appetizing. In excellent spirits I chatted with the waitress and asked for seconds even before I had begun the firsts. Halfway through then original helping however, the pylons got the jump on me. I telescoped. Sat with my load in
 
Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries