Prettier in Pink than Andie Walsh.
We went tea-shopping (talk about narrowing down your purpose) this weekend, and as we strolled past a market, Chris said, “Look at those UGLY Pumpkins! Who would buy one of those?”
I turned, expecting a display of one of the homelier branches of Hubbard Squash, and LO!!! There were the most wonderful, smooth, cool pumpkins I’ve ever seen, like pastelly marble carved by a master artist. I said, “OHHHH, they’re BEEEEUUUUtiful! I’ve been wanting to get one of those for several years!”
As Chris reflected on my taste/eyesight/mental state, a young man emerged from the front door. “Do you REALLY like these? PLEASE take one!”
The card read “$4.99,” and I was ready to get one at most any reasonable price, but I didn’t choose the most gourd for my money. I passed by the bigger ones, the shapelier ladies with the Camay complexions and the girlish stems, in favor of a smallish plump cutie peeping shyly from the far back corner. I scooched past Chris, who was fishing for his wallet, and picked her up carefully with both hands, feeling the pleasant heft of her shape and the satiny-smooth skin and the absolute COOL of personality and temperature.
The gracious young man said, “Oh, no---just take it with you; everybody wants the other ones for Jack-O-Lanterns.”
And so I carried her to the car with the gravity and care I use when carrying my one
vase outdoors, or a very special teapot, or one of the Breakfast Frogs,
clutched to my bosom to prevent escape onto that slate floor. Waterford
We belted her in, (I was hoping you wouldn't notice the magic wand in the picture), and we ARE going to take her out for a spin ---Caro's upstairs stitching little mouse waistcoats and we're setting our clocks for 11:55.