Word: fittings
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Suddenly I lost it. I was surrounded by nylon legs and espadrilles and black ties--I had overdosed on polyester. In a fit of addled desperation I sought out the solace of the Boston Red Sox vs. the California Angels on the press room television with the refreshing company of a bored security guard named Mary Beth from Quincy...
...graduate of a Lima, Ohio, beauty school. She was munching a 100 Queen Anne Pecan Roll with a jingle on the wrapper: "Jimmy bought a jingle bar,/ He loved each luscious bite;/ Said he, Queen Anne's jingle bar . . ." Diane filled in the last line with "Is fit for a king all right." She won two motor scooters, which she promptly sold for $500. With the money she bought the equipment to open her own salon, the Starlight Beauty Shoppe. The lights in the ceiling twinkled and a shampoo...
...Shah has often been criticized for enjoying a sumptuous life-style while his people suffer economic distress. His Imperial Majesty, Shahanshah (King of Kings) is, at 58, trim and fit. He and his wife, Empress Farah, 40, Crown Prince Reza, 18, and three other children, shuttle among five palaces in Iran. The Shah enjoys a good game of tennis, skiing at St. Moritz, and flying his own JetStar. He works even harder than he plays, frequently putting in 15-hour days, which are often spent conferring with a handful of trusted advisers...
...identifying her as Adelheid Schulz. Acting on the tip, police mounted an elaborate surveillance, observing-and even photographing-the suspects as they boarded Rieger's helicopter for subsequent flights. Handwriting experts examined the helicopter rental contract and concluded that it had been signed by Klar. But in a fit of inexplicable indecision, the cops failed to close in and make the capture. After completing their aerial survey of potential targets, the terrorists blithely drove away, losing a police tail in the winding streets of Stettbach, a nearby village. "An incredible performance," snapped an aide in Chancellor Helmut Schmidt...
...clockless mountain summers were over for my father. Forty-four years old, a ranch hand, now a widower, Charlie Doig had a son to raise by himself. He needed work which would last beyond a quick season. He had to fit us under a roof somewhere, choose a town where I could start to school, piece out in his own mind just how we were going to live from then on. It tells most about my father over the next years that I was the only one of those predicaments that ever seemed to grow easier...