Mary doesn’t like her picture taken.
At family events, she loves to bring
this up, tell everyone all about it.
At the table this year, there was a
box that looked as if it had been
just painted a dull shade of yellow
by a very thick brush. Mrs. Hampton
kept referring to it as her “golden”
box. “Can you park it a bit further
down, and a bit further in, perhaps?”
She had everyone bending over back-
wards, especially over this “golden”
box. It wasn’t a “gift,” we were all
told, but it might be a “receptacle.”
And this year, Karla, that’s the dog,
I guess she’s a small boxer – a min-
iature boxer – all beige, she is, and
this year, Karla hobbles. And it’s a
pretty dramatic hobble. There is
hardly a fuss over Karla’s ailment,
kept referring to it as her “golden”
box. “Can you park it a bit further
down, and a bit further in, perhaps?”
She had everyone bending over back-
wards, especially over this “golden”
box. It wasn’t a “gift,” we were all
told, but it might be a “receptacle.”
And this year, Karla, that’s the dog,
I guess she’s a small boxer – a min-
iature boxer – all beige, she is, and
this year, Karla hobbles. And it’s a
pretty dramatic hobble. There is
hardly a fuss over Karla’s ailment,
and for some reason I find this in-
credibly disturbing. So I can’t take
my eyes off of Karla. She’s moving
around a lot, but the poor thing is
so slow and so particular and you
can see the pain in her big, black,
bulbous eyes. At one point, Mrs.
Hampton catches my glare, sort of
lifts my gaze away from the dog
and she gives me a long, hard look
of “But what can be done?” I really
have a strong compulsion to answer
her with a look that says, well, I ima-
gine a lot of things, really, just ask
a veterinarian, I’ve seen some pretty
astounding contraptions. Anyway, I
keep straying from the subject, don’t
I? Mary, as I mentioned earlier, she
simply despises having her picture
taken. But I, just as I have for, it
has been a few years now, have
come up with the solution to this
rather awkward dilemma. Yes, I
happen to know that Mary loves
a very particular, and I must say
quite costly, Beaujolais. “Hey,
Mar,” I chime to her, she’s on
the other side of the table, we’re
all standing at this point, “Mary,
would you like, perhaps, a small
glass of Beaujolais,” slowly lift-
ing the bottle, label outward, of
course, from its purple shimmery
bag. She absolutely lights up,
bright as a marquis! “Oooh,
Herbert, I would looove some,”
she says, over-extending each
vowel, loud and clear as a bell
that she most assuredly means
exactly what she is saying.
credibly disturbing. So I can’t take
my eyes off of Karla. She’s moving
around a lot, but the poor thing is
so slow and so particular and you
can see the pain in her big, black,
bulbous eyes. At one point, Mrs.
Hampton catches my glare, sort of
lifts my gaze away from the dog
and she gives me a long, hard look
of “But what can be done?” I really
have a strong compulsion to answer
her with a look that says, well, I ima-
gine a lot of things, really, just ask
a veterinarian, I’ve seen some pretty
astounding contraptions. Anyway, I
keep straying from the subject, don’t
I? Mary, as I mentioned earlier, she
simply despises having her picture
taken. But I, just as I have for, it
has been a few years now, have
come up with the solution to this
rather awkward dilemma. Yes, I
happen to know that Mary loves
a very particular, and I must say
quite costly, Beaujolais. “Hey,
Mar,” I chime to her, she’s on
the other side of the table, we’re
all standing at this point, “Mary,
would you like, perhaps, a small
glass of Beaujolais,” slowly lift-
ing the bottle, label outward, of
course, from its purple shimmery
bag. She absolutely lights up,
bright as a marquis! “Oooh,
Herbert, I would looove some,”
she says, over-extending each
vowel, loud and clear as a bell
that she most assuredly means
exactly what she is saying.
