Jennifer, I was very tempted to finish that little rhyme but discretion got the better of me. My old dad taught me that inadvertently one year when I was barely out of school. He was gleefully horrified. I loved your bananagram story, especially the two recipes for the potion. So deliciously evil and then unable to carry it out. I like Miranda. That was her name, right?
I loved last night's meeting. Thank you both for all your lovely comments about Emmaline. I do love her and hope to keep her occupied for many more pages.
Jenny, I agree with Jennifer. You need to do something with that story. Absolutely amazing.
May 1--Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, The Clowness Cha-U-Kao in a Tutu. Too old. No longer thin. What would she do? Where would she go? Her whole life had been there at the Moulin Rouge. She had been six or seven when Maman had brought her to crouch there under the makeup shelf out of the way. She had done her school work there--in the years she had gone to school. Soon enough it had been her turn to paint her face and flash her supple thighs for the entertainment of the patrons. She was popular. She was. Champagne and flowers were sent to her in the dressing room. Carriages came every night to take her to parties. Jewels were given, promises were made, but the jewels were mostly paste and few of the promises were kept. Time passed and she was reduced to this, a caricature of herself, making a joke of the state of her life.
I hope you spend at least part of May outside, celebrating. *ahem*
--Barbara
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