Two o'clock in the afternoon is a very dangerous time for me. It's when I can barely keep my eyes open. On my days off, I like to sit on the couch to knit after lunch and, oops, have a little snooze. Mrs. Boss frowns on that. Oh, she doesn't mind if I knit here but she objects to her employee taking a nap. She seems to think it gives the customers the wrong impression. I have no idea where she got that idea.
October 8--Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin, The Young Draughtsman. Simon squirmed in his pose. His tight coat and the shirt collar that choked him make him feel like he could barely draw breath. Papa had insisted that he sit for this stupid portrait, wasted afternoons when he could be drawing himself. How did Papa think he was going to pass his classes if he had no time to do his work? Simon knew that Papa owed a debt to the painter, the Monsieur Chardin who was so particular about every little thing. Three times Herve had to retie the ribbon in his hair, then a stray bead of sweat ran down and straightened one of the curls that Monsieur had fixed just so on his left cheek. Maman had retired in tears on the first day when she was kicked out of the parlor where she sat thinking she would watch the process. Simon knew that she only wanted to prattle on about nothing and pick up gossip to pass on to her friends at tea. He thought the painter would have learned by now to shut out that kind of distraction. A fly buzzed past and landed on Simon's sleeve. He dropped his gaze to watch it investigate the folds of cloth and he nearly fell asleep. Monsieur Chardin snapped his brush down onto the table in disgust and said they might as well take a break since Simon was too much of a baby to even sit still for an hour.
Artists! Tsk.
--Barbara
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