Sandwiched between the often cloyingly self-righteous sixties and the Reagan-Bush rise to imperial ambition, the average guy of the seventies dreamed simple dreams of a steady job, a nice house, and coming home to a girl like Mary Waters. Innocent. Pretty. Built like a brick shithouse. There waiting for you with a smile, a nice word, and companionship. She was as much a friend as lover, an equal without having to shove the idea down your throat. Someone who was comfortable and looked just as good in a flannel shirt and jeans as high-priced evening gown. Someone who was just as happy to sit home and share a bottle of Annie Greensprings as sip Moet & Chandon at a five-star restaurant. It was the time of the Middle Class before Soviet aggression gave Ronald Reagan and all the rest of his Merry Band of Crypto-Fascists an excuse the destroy the American Dream. I'm lucky. It took the better part of a lifetime, but I found a girl just like her!