Fictionlet
“Geeze, just what we need,” said Brigid, threading her way between a random pair of shoppers. “All I wanted was to get a pair of pants.”
“Aw,” said Greg, surveying the community art show that had descended upon the mall. “Try to get into the spirit of the thing! Some of these people have put years of their lives into their work!”
“Yeah, sure, maybe,” said Brigid. “But I don’t see why I should have to suffer for their stupidity. All I want is to buy some jeans, and I have to wade through the entire population of the city being determined to stand in my way everywhere I go.”
Greg tsked. “You are in a nasty mood,” he said. “Well I don’t care what you say, I think it’s fun. And some of this art is really good! Take a look at this etching, for instance.” He gestured at a large copper plate that had what appeared to be the Lincoln Memorial etched into it. “Look at the detail! That’s gotta be a lot of — er — hello?”
He stopped and looked around; he had apparently been talking to empty air, because Brigid had stopped three tables back and was practically bouncing. “Oh my God these are so cuuute!” she was saying as she picked up a statuette approximately two inches tall.
Greg wandered back over to her and examined the object: it appeared to be a porcelain goose, wearing an Edwardian-style suit with a high collar, a bow tie, and a tiny pair of spectacles. It seemed to be reading a parchment, which it held away from its body with the tip of a wing.
“Isn’t it the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?” she said. “All of these are so precious!”
“Er,” said Greg. “Well, they’re not really my cup of tea, but…”
“Look at the bunny!” she squeed, scooping up another statuette. “He’s reading a bedtime story to the little baby bunny! It’s so cute!”
“Cute,” said Greg, coldly. “Yes. So cute I’m going into diabetic shock just from looking at it. Can we move on, now?”
“Just a minute,” said Brigid. “How much is this one?” She began hunting for a price tag.
Greg sighed. “Remind me, next time you hate something, to let you go on hating it.”
-The Gneech
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