Back in the dim, dark days when Lyndon Johnson was President, gas was around 30 cents a gallon, and The Beatles were still, technically, together, there was a little boy who had the brightest ginger hair one can imagine. He wore it long, as was the style at the time. It was wavy, and his mother, recalling her youngest brother's curly hair, would spend time each day curling long strands around her finger, giving him long ringlets. Some days, the little boy's father would take pictures of him.
This would be not just any day, but Christmas Day, 1968.
This was just a day. I still don't like having my shirt tucked in.
Orange makes Lisa think of everything from candy corn to an old muscle car. It may well be the color of her life. Randall sticks to the essentials - death and the Cleveland Browns, which do go together well, I might add.
