If only I Could Make Carrot Flowers
Don't let my daughter fool you. She can't make them either. Only restaurants can. Or people in the PTA we don't want to know.
Maybe I will write a book about a girl who makes carrot flowers and soap sculptures and Kleenex origami. A loving girl who falls for a mean guy and her friends tell her to beware but she feels that because she can make carrot flowers, everything else will work out. CARROT GIRL.
Nah.
Maybe it'll be a book about a woman who sits and stares at a statue of Mark Twain and makes carrot flowers while she does it. CARROT GIRL AND THE STATUE.
Nah.
I'll stick with the old ladies, who right now are running a prostitute ring. How did I get there? I'm not sure exactly.
I'm reading SECRET SOCIETY GIRL by Diana Peterfreund and it is fascinating. I have always longed to be in a secret club and never have been. Doesn't someone want to invite me?
And as if there weren't enough troubles in the world, Hannaford's is doing a complete remodel. AAAAAAAAAAARGH, I don't know where anything is. By the time I emerge from its aisles, I have the look of a losing Survivor contestant who has been voted off the show. OUT!!!
It's COLD in New England, dear reader. REALLY COLD. What's up with that?
Sacre Bleu!
A bientot
love,
becky
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