Me.
That's who.
These flowers grew in my Grandmother's backyard when I was a little girl. We would pick them and weave them into crowns for ourselves and then hold a May Crowning for my mother's statue of the Holy Virgin. (Which I broke when I was 5 or so... yes, I know. I AM going to hell)
The flowers are in bloom this week. So I couldn't resist.
via Cute Overload
Oh, Pat... How many times did I read you. Do you remember how I memorized every freaking line of your 8 pages? and stopped Filles from pulling your fur out? They were allowed to destroy the sandpaper that was the cat's tongue. But not you, Pat.
Actually, I am not entirely sure that your name is Pat. I thought that it was a verb. An assumed subject of "you" was missing, of course... just to make it seem like you really had a name. I could never convince les filles that your name was not PAT. So Pat you were. And now? You are a trophy on the wall.
Is that really better than having your fur pulled out of the book? I think not.
I guess I will have to concentrate my memories on Mary Malloy and the Baby Who Wouldn't Sleep... she went bubbly, bubbly down the Nile in a Faluka.
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