“Brother, where is thy broadbrim?” asked First Lady Dolley Madison of an old Quaker friend, who was no longer wearing the familiar Quaker chapeau.

“Sister,” he replied, looking at Dolley’s well-exposed bosom and shoulders, “where is thy kerchief?”

I found this delicious anecdote on The Huffington Post, in a story by Carl Sferrazza Anthony. It was about Michelle Obama’s “right to bare arms,” and the history of exposed flesh at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

In the matter of going sleeveless, the issue seems to be driving people crazy. Many First Ladies were brave enough to show off this oft-troublesome area – and not just the famously toned Mrs. Kennedy. The more matronly Mamie Eisenhower went peekaboo as did Ladybird Johnson and even, on occasion, Nancy Reagan.

So what’s the big deal? Though the author of the piece doesn’t broach the subject of racism, some who commented to the website did. And now I ask – would this even be discussed if the arms in question were the long, milky-white limbs of Cindy McCain?

I leave it to you to ponder.

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Spelling Bee: Sometimes – as Blanche DuBois remarked – there’s God, so quickly. Or at least wacky manna from heaven.

The other day I was sitting more or less innocently at my desk when two books appeared. One was the advance copy of Candy Spelling’s Stories from Candy-land. (Candy is the widow of TV mogul Aaron Spelling and often held up as the prime example of a certain species of Hollywood wife.)

The other book was the paperback version of Tori Spelling’s sTORI Telling. (Tori is Candy’s sometimes-estranged daughter, and is often held up as a prime example of a certain species of Hollywood children.)

I didn’t know if I could take reading either book cover to cover. Life’s minutes are precious, after all. So I flipped open Tori’s book and my eye immediately fell to this sentence: “I don’t think my father had to die so soon. Yes, he had a stroke, but for two years before that – years when he could have recovered from throat cancer – he gave up on life. He never saw daylight. He rarely got out of bed … and his wife was going out every night without him.” The “wife,” let us make clear, was Tori’s mom, Candy.

Then I opened up Stories from Candy-land and instantly found this: “It’s fine if she [Tori] wants her own reality show or wants to write books about her childhood,  I just wish she’d leave me out of it … Each of us has our own perception of reality. When Tori says the word ‘mother,’ the focus of my life changes temporarily.”

Candy then goes on to tell a genuinely funny story of being in the hospital, having surgery. She doesn’t quite understand why she is being fussed over so much – she is, after all, just a famous filthy rich widow.

“The mystery of my sudden popularity was solved. ‘Mrs. Spelling, look!’ The nurse said. ‘Isn’t that your daughter on TV? Mrs. Spelling, she says your relationship is complicated. What does that mean?’

"’I’m not sure,’ I said ‘But I don’t think she is being complimentary. Just a guess.’”

When the nurse won’t turn the damn set off, and starts saying how pretty Tori’s dress is, Candy writes, “I wanted to know when the anesthesiologist would be arriving.”