Mom and I take Hattie Belle to a roadside attraction. The Rock Man. Rock Land. Rock World. I can’t remember its name even though I read the brochure five times in the car on the way home.
Jerry Seinfeld, everyone!
WHAT IS IT ABOUT ROCKS AND KIDS?
Jerry just left the house.
H. fills up two velvet drawstring pouches of tumbled rocks, one for her and one to take home to Sophie. Then she grabs Ol’ Miner Gabby’s rocks. Fortunately he is a stuffed prop, but still, I am prepared to apologize. I am always prepared for apologies.
I buy a blue-green fluorite heart and an irridescent clear opalite heart. I cannot put them down. So good and smooth and lovely. I want to ask hot young Mr. Rocks, the live one, what they represent, these stones. I like hearing about rock meanings and flower meanings. I am very Victorian that way. I want to tuck them into my corseted bosom and cover them with a hanky.
But hot young Mr. Rocks is checking out the barely-20something clientele and has no time for sweet Victorian me.
So if you know anything about why I feel compelled to sleep with my fluorite and opalite, I am all ears.
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