I found this little 1949 booklet at the thrift store the other day.
Apparently, back in 1949, before Facebook was invented, people had to make friends with whomever (or whatever) they could scrape up.
Alright fine, but how hard up does a person have to be to count Pure Bicarbonate of Soda as one of their friends?
I’m talking to you people of 1949! What were you thinking making Bicarbonate of Soda your friend? Hello? . . . ok, fine don’t answer me.
I’ll make something up and say it’s true. That’s what you get for ignoring me!
Let’s start by pretending we live in 1949. What else were you doing today anyway. (I mean besides pretending to be working.)
As you know, the first thing to do when pretending anything is to rush over to Google and start asking a lot of unnecessary questions:
What was the cost of a first class stamp in 1949?
Google says: $.03
Who was the President of the United States in 1949?
Google says: “Harry S. Truman”
Why did Newfoundland join the Canada Confederation?
Google says: “You’re joking right?”
How do you write 1949 in Roman Numerals?
Google says: “Get outta here kid, ya bother me.”
Well apparently Google got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. So let’s try to conjure up 1949 by using this picture from 1951 that I found in my baby book and subtracting 2 years from it in our minds.
As you can see from this picture of me and Mom, 1949 was rather bleak, stark and dark. On the upside, they did have doilies (one) and lamps (one) and a window (one).
And even though you don’t see any “friends” in this picture, I’ll bet you anything if you were to go into the kitchen, you would have found Mom’s besty, Pure Bicarbonate of Soda, relaxing on the kitchen shelf, at the ready for Mom should she suddenly need Dear ol’ Carby.
OK, now that our minds are firmly ensconced in 1949, let’s just pretend something came up, and we are going to need our new BFF, Dear ol’ Carby, to come to the rescue.
Let’s say we were in need of . . . oh I don’t know maybe a . . . CASTER OIL SANDWICH?
Apparently back in 1949, there was some weirdness going on. First, that a Caster Oil Sandwich was actually on any menu at all, and second, that it was a sandwich you were suppose to :“Drink while effervescing.”
I don’t know about you, but I rarely effervesce when I drink sandwiches . . . but that’s just me.
What’s say we toddle back over to Google, shall we? And let’s ask Google why anybody would want to drink a Caster oil Sandwich:
Under what circumstances would someone drink a Caster oil Sandwich?
Google says: “Get outta here kid, you bother me!”
Fine be that way!
If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen with Dear ol’ Carby preparing a Caster oil Sandwich for our new besty, Goog.
Linda Vernon Humor 
I shall overlook the outside loo for one…didn’t make friends in there I must say, yet I did have a pet earwig…sadly my mother fed it castor oil!
lol mom!!!!
I wondered why baking soda kept trying to add me as a friend on Facebook. All this time it thought we were besties!
Good ol Carby! Tell him hi from me!
My mother, a nurse, told me that a castoroil sandwich was a layer of gin, a layer of castor oil and another layer of gin. knock back, never taste the oil.
I’m just thankful it wasn’t a Cod Liver Oil sandwich.
Mom forced a spoonful of that crap down my throat when I was three and sixty-two years later the rotten fish taste still hasn’t gone away.
Perhaps if she’s added bicarbonate of soda . . .