Jan Wilberg rung my bell the other day with a list of things she missed. We must be kin, somehow. Further down she mentioned having great legs when she was younger.  That rung a bell too.

Back in the 1950s when I was in boot camp sometimes shorts were the uniform of the day. As a result someone pinned the name Legs Laughlin on me. And it stuck.

So I asked a friend, “What the hell’s wrong with my legs?”

“I don’t know. They look twisted.”

“Thanks buddy. Thanks a lot.”