Posting the link from Olga caused me to remember something she wrote while I was in San Francisco several
weeks ago. She had discovered that only blocks from my hotel was a Lush store — a kind of body care and potion place. She posted this on her blog, and I meant to put it up myself, but she and I became engrossed in a bitter dispute over tuna fish salad and whether one should listen to monks in that regard, so the time passed. I ran across it again today, however, and thought I would put it up, mostly as a lesson that even in this day and age, fairy tales and fables indeed linger on:
And the Father said, “Behold, my children, I am taking leave of my household and firm for the period of seven days, for I will journey to the coast of the west to see the grand cathedrals and relics of the city which is known as San Francisco. Do not pout nor give me the look of young puppy dogs, for one ticket is all I have, and I have one ticket.”
And the Eldest Daughter said, “Father, you are cruel to travel alone and not take me, for I much desire the chance to travel to the coast of the west, though I am too much of an Irish lass to appreciate the wide stretches of sand and surf. Willst thou reconsider?”
And the Father said, “Neener.”
And the Eldest Daughter, who was fair and virtuous, grieved to hear him say such. “Then, oh sorrowful One, I entreat thee with many punches and pokes to taketh thou this list, which is precious to me, and enter within the sacred building on Powell Street, for as you make your pilgrimage, I would wish for you to make one for me. Therefore, enter the Sacred Lush, and stray not from this list, nor forget to ask for samples from the Wise Ones.”
And the Father said, “Expect not treasures, nor set your hopes upon the castles of the sky, for I am not made of money.”
And the Eldest Daughter pulled forth her greatest weapon, the Look of the Abused Puppy, and the Father did laugh until without breath, and the Daughter knew that while the precious list would not be fulfilled, it would be considered and, with love, grow smaller by the use of the Revered Paternal Credit Card.
“Ahh!” the Eldest Daughter warned, “Let not the containers explode, nor melt into one solid mass, lest you wish to maketh me your enemy. For I am meticulous in the ways of Lush, and you are an easy target for poking.”
And so the Father departed for the coast of the west with the precious list, and the Daughter waited, and sharpened her nails.
A rather frightening tale, at least for the hapless father, so I’ll reveal the ending. In prosaic terms, I indeed found the Lush shop and stumbled inside. I was immediately accosted by a terrifyingly perky salesgirl, who asked “Can I help you, dude?”
I immediately went into brain freeze, and all I could think of was to thrust the list at her and say, in my best Dan Ackroyd style, “I’m on a mission from God.” She wasn’t fazed in the least, and immediately started gathering the goods. But consider Olga’s version:
And yea, when the Father didst enter into the Sacred Lush, a Wise One DID bound up toward him, and DID say, “Dude, what can I do for you?”
And the Father, in the timeless style of the Brothers of Blue, didst say, “I’m on a mission from God,” and thrust the List into her hand.
And yea, the Daughter didst rejoice, and the Father remained unpummelled.
A close call. I am fearful to say that her younger sister is not only as clever in her writing, but even fiercer in her pummeling. Keep me, the dutiful Father, in your prayers.
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