2003-09-02 10:30 am
Unemployable
No. 20 shuffled up to me again last week.
"My problem is that I am too fickle!" she whispered. "I can't keep a job down."
I told her she should work for the government.
She giggled.
"Look!" she said. "I have been to the shops!"
She was holding one of those gift bags that bottles of champagne get put in. It was shiny, golden and decorated with stars and moons.
"What did you buy?" I asked, not without some trepidation. Beginning a conversation with No. 20 was rather like stepping into the entrance of a vast and complicated labyrinth.
"I asked him what I should have for lunch!" she cried happily. "So I decided on pasta!"
She withdrew a handful of dried spaghetti from the champage gift bag, broke it between her hands and scattered it about her feet. Then she laughed and scurried away.
"Fickle," I thought, as I carried on with my round, "is one word for what you are."
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