Wonder Wench Writes

So all right, he grew up in a German-Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn and got kissed for whistling. 

I grew up in Boston’s West End (which was Slavic:  Polish, Russian, Ukrainian, Lithuanian – as opposed to the North End, which was and is Italian, or the South End, which was and is Irish) – anyway, if you got caught whistling on my street, somebody’s grandmother or old aunt would smack you upside the head for calling down the devil.  And you didn’t dare go home and tell your mother because she would smack you again for causing someone’s grandmother to have to hit you in the first place.  And it didn’t matter whether you were Catholic or Jewish, you got smacked because all the old ladies just knew whistling was calling the devil to come and have a party. 

And wolf whistle?  Shoot, all us girls thought it was super neat except we were all too young for those damned whistles to be for us.

 Big Louie, I know times have changed.  But … just one little wolf whistle?

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