|WHAT KIND OF FACE|
DOES IT WANT?
"No, goats!" I shouted. "They are gamboling amongst the stones."
"Goats!” I shouted. “The kind that eat tin cans.” I said this, although I know full well that goats don’t eat tin cans. They may nibble on the paper around the tin cans, but not the metal, itself. "Can you call the neighbors and tell them they got through the fence?"
Well, we finally got it sorted out and I went on to work, but not before calling Michael. He must have been in the shower and didn’t answer his phone, so I left a detailed message asking him to take pictures for me. When he got to work he texted me. "No goats." They must have found their way home by the time he went by.
"Yes," said Ellis. We're going as secret agents, and secret agents need a disguise." With those words, I knew it was the end of an era. No longer are my services required as maker of masks or of totally awesome swords and shields. No longer are my seamstress skills necessary. I’ll just put my sewing machine away up in the attic. No more capes or hoods or swashbuckling pantaloons.
|Treat in Beauty; Trick in Peace; Blessed Be.|