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"Ask a Dog"
| Saturday, June 03, 2006 |
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Chapter Five
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The female has decided that writing Christian romance fiction is the least harmful of my present activities. If you knew what she thought of Christian romance fiction you would perhaps understand how deeply I have disgraced myself in the past days. In short, the females flesh fell between my teeth just as they were snapping closed. She could not be convinced to look upon this quite in the light of manna from heaven.
So I am relegated to authoring the romance novel.
This chapter will be very short, but necessary before we can go on. I call it "What the well dressed heroine is Wearing". Notice the alliteration.
Let us first note that she had a womanly figure, a fact which could not be concealed so we may as well mention it up front.
Her eyes were of an unusual blend of color, and had the effect of bringing to mind a line of Kipling's -- the rhythmic, almost hypnotic 'Great, Grey, Green, Greasy, Limpopo River.' Her hair was like a cascading waterfall, and her barretts were like pink salmon jumping up it.
She contrived to dress with a careful ingenuity acquired from years of woeful living as her father squandered their money on romance literature and her mother drank away what was left: yet in the midst of it all, she managed to concentrate on her appearance. She emerged from these debilitating circumstances with a striking wardrobe at half the cost of the other girls. She wore a tall skirt, of the order of a canvas tent. It was buxoumed out behind in the absence of a real bustle, by the tassals of her graduation gown. Her blouse was made of old curtains, which had been pieced together out of old tablecloths, made from old blouses, which had been cut out of old curtains, which had previously served as tablecoths. These she bunched artfully into rosettes at the shoulders so that they hung gracefully about the neck and arms, and in all points made her resemble a Grecian Urn.
Even these vestments, economical and even sparse as they were, did not conceal her womanly figure.
Indeed, what could. |
posted by Zack @ 6/03/2006 08:52:00 PM   |
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| 4 Comments: |
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Why you naughty doggy. I hope you learned a lesson from this uplifting little excercise.
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I confess. I took the title from Bertie Wooster's article for Milady's Boudoir. This was perhaps naughty of me. But I am a dog. I have no morality.
Only those who possess souls can learn lessons from uplifting exercises. It ought to be obvious by now that I have no soul.
I feel that my soulless existence has been justified by your lukewarm praise. Thank you.
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Are you sure the heroine is entirely fictional? The wardrobe eerily matches that adorning the subject of a portrait that once hung in my grandmother's house. A great-great womanly something or other, the subject was.
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You have found me out.
In a past life I was a can of green beans on your grandmother's pantry shelf. I used to roll out when the house was deserted and gaze adoringly at the portrait.
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Why you naughty doggy. I hope you learned a lesson from this uplifting little excercise.