DATES, or Life is Tough All Over Not until spring with its greenery, genuine sun ray heating and seemingly endless freedom from care, will young hearts be delighted once more with sights of courtship on every spot of parking. Unseasonably cold weather during the past spring at Weber College broke up the accustomed picture of young romance going down the hill hand in hand, but it is expected that old times will return again in April. Meanwhile, freshmen can be adjusting themselves with incidental social events of the winter season at the local college. And aiding in the changeover are a few standard plaints on faculty technique. The girl is expecting at least an approximation of finesse from her early dates, it seems. She is inclined to be resentful of her escort's slap-happy ignoring of her wishes. She would appreciate it if her desires as chief guest were inquired into and then considered. Rough stuff, crudity and other extrovert mannerisms on the part of her converted Eskimo disturb her evening further. Loud talking, hauling on her body members, slapping chumily at the posterior, stepping on the toes are among minor but stockpiling annoyances of some dates, the ladies say. At hand is a complaint which voices some of these objections. To begin with, he was an even hour late after being definite on the time. The "windblown ride" in his aged oil-burner was not unexpected but when he took her for an eight-mile jaunt into the country after carefully determining she would really prefer the direct route home, she began to understand that woman's rights are not necessarily so. Critical of a dancing style which took the slow ones and the fast ones at the same tempo, she gently said that "after several numbers it became rather embarrassing." "At intermission we left the center of the dance floor and moved to the refreshment table, where my partner thoroughly enjoyed himself for twenty minutes." A phenomenon causing wonderment in older citizens, monopoly dancing, is another diversion which can be more than a little tiresome in the stale ballroom date to the lady of the evening. "When the evening was almost over," said one, "we were approached by another couple, who asked to trade a dance. At this, my partner politely replied that we were just leaving." "I guess some men are just wonderful, and then there are the rest of them," this same girl footnoted her remarks. Fellows, on the other hand, put their dissatisfaction more bluntly. In the first place, the girls are on a manhunt and the fellows feel the hot breath of matrimony on the backs of their necks at an all too early moment. They just want to go out for an evening or two and have a little fun without immediately becoming involved in home-fried cooking and diapers. For the serious-minded college man knows he probably cannot afford a wife and an education at the same time. Girls, however, see wars and more wars. They read statistics dealing with the fewness of males as compared with females. And also they just "wanta get married." The Spanish have a cure for this feverish condition. It simply calls for locking the young things up or, what is about the same thing, sending them off to a nunnery until they have refrigerated somewhat. As for earning an adequate living after the wedding bells are over,thanks to father, "That's his business," the girls say, and only a small amount of guesswork is required to know to whom they refer. Another male objection to the date of his temporary choice has to do with something described as personality. This criticism could be merely an unfair discrimination against those well-poised coeds who do not have a case of "hopping jitters," but in turning thumbs down on certain dates, the fellow is apt to say when pressed for a reason, "She just doesn't have any personality." Other ways of putting it include, "Too dead" and "Not worth the money." The outlay for the evening, by the way, will probably spoil a five dollar bill. This item of expense is another reason why some men, maybe ultimately fated to be rolling in funds, do not go dating more often during their college years. Inquiry into the reason so many college fellows, at least in Ogden, go out with high school and even junior high school girls yields answers indicating that the high school maids "are easier to boss around," are also "better to get along with," "not so conceited about themselves," and "more fun." Chances are that the high school girl feels a greater honor has been bestowed when a college man selects her for a date, and so she is properly enthusiastic about the whole matter and can hold it during the entire evening. College girls, on the other hand, feel that they are at least as good a find as the fellows who date them and may, along with this dangerous self-complacency, go too far in the superiority build-up. The tenderest thing at Weber College, as everywhere else, is the male ego. Nothing should be done to lacerate it. At the same time it can be pointed out, for the benefit of any fellows who may be listening in, that the most natural, delightful and satisfying companion for man is woman. This generalization, of course, is true only under ideal conditions. It is hardly ever realized because woman is expertly equipped with a most wicked weapon her tongue. So much for introductory and summary remarks on this interesting subject of dating. Reproduced here in their entirety are some sample personal experiences with the "opposite sex." Mostly humorous, they endeavor to salvage some touch of philosophy, happiness or even romance from the wreckage of first experiences. Editors. Page 6 Exit Sir Galahad By MAE STRAND First love sweet? Phooey! Mine wasn't, and I fell hard. Just a smile set my heart to beating in syncopations with four quarter rests added at every new glimpse. The pitfall opened before me one winter's night at a basketball game the year prior to our becoming green "Freshies" in high school. We had been meeting new faces and personalities fast, but when "his" struck me, it was like the sun stretching forth that first warm finger to an uplifted face after a soaking rain. ... It was wonderful! From that moment on, my one and only aim was to have a date with this certain "Sir Galahad." Schemes played ring-around-the-rosie in my brain, and every perfect word and action I would perform (when I was close to him) was clearly impressed, to be set into reality at a moment's notice. It then happened that first date and what did I do? Oh, everything was as I had planned that is, everything but me. I just didn't click. In the first place, I had been so intent on impressing him and had dreamed so long of going with him, that when the impossible finally happened I couldn't emerge from that dream. "Sir Galahad" asked me to ride home with him from a dance and I accepted. I accepted with a haze enveloping my brain like a dust storm. Words just wouldn't crack through the window latch of my mouth, and all the perfect little gestures remained undone. Last but not least, upon arriving at my home, like a bashful child I opened my door myself and fled into the house. Did I ever go with him again? Yes, but not until "Sir Galahad" rode back into his story books and my dream became an ordinary boy with whom I could laugh and speak in friendliness. A first date is important and this particular one was especially so because it taught me to keep my heroes in their places and to take people as they really are . . . friendly, common and, perhaps, just like me. I'm Tucking My Coat Tail In By JIM SULLIVAN This will be an extremely hard subject for me to approach, because I haven't had a date in a long time. To record much information on this subject, I shall have to go back to my younger days, when I had faith in womanhood. Lately I have come to the conclusion that all college girls want to get a husband. If a girl finds out that I don't expect to get married for five or six years, she will have nothing more to do with me. In fact, she will hardly speak to me. I believe that all the girls at Weber are like this, because the only ones that will speak to me are the married girls. Well, I hear life is tough all over. Getting back to the subject, I faintly remember the last girl I went with. I shall have to rack my memory because of the time element involved. As I recall, I had a date to go to a show with her. I was rather scared when I walked up on her porch. I rang the doorbell, and naturally someone answered it. It was she! I believe she was wearing a skirt and sweater, but I can't be sure. Her casual attitude made me uneasy. By the time I had met all the relations, I was in a dither. I was wishing I had gone with the boys. I managed to make it through the show with only a couple of nervous tremors. I even put my arm around her, but I am a little worried about that. I don't know if it was right to do such things on a first date. In due time I took her home. As we were conversing on her porch, she started talking about her girl friends. It seemed that every one of her friends was married but her. I may be wrong but I believe she wanted to get married. Therefore, I am going to put her name in my little black book and look her up in five or six years when my fancy might turn to thoughts of love. A Gruesome Evening By CAROL WOODS One night my girl friend called and asked me to go on a blind date. I didn't want to, but she gave him a build-up until in my mind I had him pictured as a combination of Alan Ladd and Cornell Wilde. Well, the night of my big date came and I was all aflutter. I shampooed my hair, did my nails and put a drop of Tabu behind each ear before putting on a new outfit I had bought especially for the occasion. The doorbell rang and I opened the door eagerly, expecting to see a handsome male. Instead, this is what stood before me: He was a star football player. By this I mean he was short, stocky and exceedingly homely. "Well," I thought, "he just can't be as bad as he looks; maybe he has a pleasant personality." He stalked out to the car, leaving me to follow. The car door was open but he shut it so fast my dress was left hanging outside as my date took me off in a cloud of smoke (no exhaust pipe). His brakes weren't good and by the time we got to the corner, I was wondering if I would come home alive. He finally got the car parked and we were crossing an extremely busy street when he stepped on my heel and my shoe came off. By this time the light had turned green and we dashed madly for the sidewalk, leaving my shoe to the mercy of the cars. When the light finally changed there sat the remains of my shoe. My date just looked at the shoe and told me if I wanted it I'd better go get it. I was beginning to wonder if chivalry had ever been alive. Surprisingly enough he was very gracious buying the tickets for the show. When we got to the lobby he bought two 25c bags of popcorn and five candy bars. My hero stalked up to the usherette grandly and in a loud voice asked to be shown to the best seats in the house. By then everyone was looking at us and I was wishing the floor would swallow me up. (Continued on page 24) Page 7