frill

At the stationery and toy shop in White River, I bought a card for my mother’s birthday. This expensive indulgence took a considerable slice of my pocket-money, but it was worth it, for card bore a satin pillow with puce flowers printed on it surrounded by every frill and flounce, lace and ribbon imaginable, along with golden letters stating ‘Mother’ and ‘Love.’ Inside was a poem that rhymed, embossed in gold.

cardfrill

By the next year I had worked out that the card was in ‘bad taste’ and was embarrassed by it, especially as Lesley’s domain was taste. I found it again about twenty-five years later when, during the course of disposing of her estate, I was sorting through the few old letters and cards she had kept.

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