On my way to my grandmother's we saw a huge pile of gravel by the Fraser River and we all know that when there are huge piles of gravel to be found, I will be there. I love looking for agates.
The only problem being that there were other people there with the same idea and they were very noisy. They had irritating noisy kids with them and a little fuzzy assed puntable lampshade headed thing that they called a dog. It was a rotten little thing. First they had the audacity to call it a dog and then they named it Sparky to boot. I was so offended.
Normally when looking for agates by the river I require a certain degree of quiet.
One must know the rockpile. Experience the rockpile. Be the rockpile.
Something like that.
Needless to say, I didn't find anything particularly exciting. We went to see my grandmother who had a new story to tell for a change, one about her wearing steel-toed stilleto heels and karate kicking "some miserable creature" until he ran away with his pants around his ankles. No one remembers ever having heard that one.
My grandmother is entirely certain that Queen Elizabeth became queen at the age of eight years old because her father died in a war. Some war.
The winner of yesterday's least practical shoe award was my sister.
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