Here’s a tale on the book I was talking about. A novel of forgiveness.
Before I closed my eyes, I began to hear my mother’s voice.
She was telling a story she had often told me when I was a
child, not realizing it was a story about me.
“A boy and a girl were insanely in love with each other,” my
mother’s voice was saying. “They decided to become engaged.
And that’s when presents are always exchanged.
The boy was poor—his only worthwhile possession was a
watch he’d inherited from his grandfather. Thinking about his
sweetheart’s lovely hair, he decided to sell the watch in order
to buy her a silver barrette.
The girl had no money herself to buy him a present. She
went to the shop of the most successful merchant in the town
and sold him her hair. With the money, she bought a gold
watchband for her lover.
When they met on the day of the engagement party, she
gave him the wristband for a watch he had sold, and he gave
her the barrette for the hair she no longer had.”
one too short, too long, too holey, too tight, too gay, too Granma-ish and stuffs. They might sound retarded but just with the right tone, it’s definitely not.
Mischief Madness 