October 12--El Greco, Christ Carrying the Cross. "Well, at least he looks a little Middle Eastern," Mike said, standing back from the large oil painting with his arms folded across his chest, "but he has girl-hands." Beryl jabbed him with her elbow. "Shh, don't say things like that." She looked around as if there were art police lurking in the gallery. "Why not? I'm right and you know it." He hunched down to whisper in her ear. "He's got girl-hands. You know he does, I know he does, the whole world knows it. This El Greco guy must have flunked "hands" in painter school, he sucked at them." By the time Mike was through talking Beryl's face was red and there were tears in her eyes. She was trying hard not to giggle. She thought she was too old to giggle and she vowed never to take Mike to another art museum. He was just fine in a science or history museum; they held his interest like art never could.
Okay, gotta print out a copy of the Knitting Guild's rewritten by-laws for Mitch before I forget to take it to knitting tonight and DD's friend Brenda's having a yarn sale tomorrow and I promised to take her flier with me too. Toodle-oo.