Stumped. Silence. No protest emanating from the backseat for once.
Frank Sinatra, Witchcraft (Cy Coleman), 1965
Yes, I know my taste in music is questionable. But that is part of my domestic goddishness. I'd like to apologize in advance to all the feminists who read what follows: Picture me in an apron, baking a cake, this song as background music, SO coming home...So 1950s. All I need is a Doris Day dress and shoes. Yes, I know, I'm sending the modern woman back to the grave... but I just like to parody the Fifties' fem.
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