When I was a little girl I often went walking with my dad.
He was going to the shop to buy his beer
that was sold in a can with a picture of a ******* clad lady on the front.
We walked down a long, dark hill to get there that was punctuated with street lights.
Dad had to choose between
Diana,
Monica,
Megan,
Candy,
Margaret or
Rosie.
All had bikinis stretched tight over absurd curves and shook their perms like manes.
On the way home I stopped under every light
because his grip on my hand didn't feel quite so tight.