For mlyn
Number Seventeen - Whimsy/Reality
Ray wasn’t at all sure where his sister had dug it up from, but the brass lamp that had taken pride of place on the sideboard in the dining room was quite possibly the most hideous example of metalwork on this-or any other-continent.
“It’s Persian,” Frannie insisted loudly, over the sounds of Tony and Maria disagreeing over who had reached for the salt first. “Pardon me for trying to bring some culture into this house.”
Ignoring her plate of food, Frannie stalked over to the sideboard and caught up the lamp. Using the sleeve of her cardigan, she polished away an imaginary bit of dust and then brandished it at her brother, twisting it so that the light slipped and caught on the unremittingly ugly engravings. “See? Culture.”
Ray looked from Tony and Maria, who had shifted their condiment negotiations to the pepper; Ma, who was surreptitiously loading up another plate with lasagna sauce for Diefenbaker; and Benny, who was carefully eating all his vegetables first.
“It really worked.”
Ray wasn’t at all sure where his sister had dug it up from, but the brass lamp that had taken pride of place on the sideboard in the dining room was quite possibly the most hideous example of metalwork on this-or any other-continent.
“It’s Persian,” Frannie insisted loudly, over the sounds of Tony and Maria disagreeing over who had reached for the salt first. “Pardon me for trying to bring some culture into this house.”
Ignoring her plate of food, Frannie stalked over to the sideboard and caught up the lamp. Using the sleeve of her cardigan, she polished away an imaginary bit of dust and then brandished it at her brother, twisting it so that the light slipped and caught on the unremittingly ugly engravings. “See? Culture.”
Ray looked from Tony and Maria, who had shifted their condiment negotiations to the pepper; Ma, who was surreptitiously loading up another plate with lasagna sauce for Diefenbaker; and Benny, who was carefully eating all his vegetables first.
“It really worked.”