‘Why are you sitting in here? You’re not envious of the Winter Queen in the kitchen, are you? I’ll bet you what you like that
pristine honey blonde hair with its two hundred quid’s worth of styling isn’t
really honey blonde. And who does she think she’s kidding with the all-white
designer outfit? The wicked stepmother? Nah, all paint and plastic that one.
She’s the sort who’d sell her granny just to pay the manicurist’s bill. And the
way she was holding her glass of wine in that pretentious, just so sort of way… All show, I’d say. Oh, I admit she’s pretty
enough. She even looks remarkably like an ex of mine, which was the only thing
that attracted my attention in the first place. But it’s a very ordinary sort of prettiness. No
character. Definitely nothing to be envious of.’
Youth is wasted on the young, and experience avails the more
mature person less and less as the years advance. What a perverse sliding scale
we humans do have to contend with. Who the bloody hell designed this place?
* * *
I thought I was seeing a water sprite today. More on that
later.
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