Most loners are born loners and stay loners, but sometimes a person is born gregarious but becomes a loner later in life by misfortune. So it is for the subject of "Blonde Bombshelter." She was a hot young thing, with everything going for her, living like there's no tomorrow, probably by virtue of her beauty, until some tragic series of events—unspecified—taught her to duck and cover.

I must have met someone like her in my time, but no one comes to mind, so perhaps this one is a bit artificial, a song of fancy. Still, from time to time I'll see some striking woman in middle age or older and think, "She must have been drop-dead gorgeous as a young woman...She looks hardened now...WTF?" It's not hard to imagine that a lifetime of being strip-mined by men for beauty could do that, invariably.

Some ladies have fond memories of such things, perhaps, but I think many more are blind-sided by it all. We all get toughened by living—or crumble. It's no bowl of cherries getting toughened on the way to being a man. I wouldn't trade it for growing up a beautiful girl, though, where one is fending off getting fucked left and right, all day every day, by every guy you meet. Surely that's enough to make a blonde bombshelter out of a blonde bombshell?

I guess this isn't a terribly original observation,—hot chicks don't got it so hot—but I like misusing all the Cold War metaphors, as I've done here. In the "Original Indiscression" version of this song, I sang over the interlude:

"...She had bodily artillery/She knew love was war/Now no man can/bunker-bust her/steel trapdoor/anymore..."
In this arrangement though, I left that stanza out. Too crowded. The lyrics needed some instrumental breathing room.

This song was another "original cover tune," and the lyrics were Bob Dylan's "Just Like a Woman."