(no subject)
I cannot help but smile when my eyes rest upon my hat. Tis a more than serviceable hat, made of felted fur, and has stood up to the passage of time admirably. When first I obtained it, I was a boy, and felt that I might wear it and stride down the street as a man -- a man! -- and gather the admiration of all who passed.
The recent addition to my hat, these many years later, pleases me as well. Tis but a lady's handkerchief, twisted into a rosette and fastened securely to the hatband with a decorative pin so that it might not be lost. A reminder of a time when gentle exchanges and jests were the order of the day. (I have discovered that far too few people understand the game as tis meant to be played; truly, I cannot imagine a gnome or dwarf participating, stout fellows though they be. *dot of ink* One never knows, but the ones I have encountered are unlikely to.)
The lady that I met was also of Gilnean extraction, Miss T----. We had originally shared an exchange over freshly-baked cookies. Most of it regarded tokens awarded in the defense of a lady's waistline, such as a handkerchief, which I averred I should accept only if twas clean. And then -- One witnesses the resulting token, days later, presented to me after a meeting with that brightest of innocent smiles: an utterly ridiculous confection of lace and pinkness.
Undaunted and unwilling to retreat, what was a gentleman to do? Dashed if I did not end up tucking it into my hatband as a knight of old was wont to do. (I must confess, it warms one's heart quite to see honest laughter.) Eventually, the thing wound up being folded by Miss T---- into a more acceptable and far more artistic rosette, my sole contribution to the whole being the pin to keep it fastened.
The recent addition to my hat, these many years later, pleases me as well. Tis but a lady's handkerchief, twisted into a rosette and fastened securely to the hatband with a decorative pin so that it might not be lost. A reminder of a time when gentle exchanges and jests were the order of the day. (I have discovered that far too few people understand the game as tis meant to be played; truly, I cannot imagine a gnome or dwarf participating, stout fellows though they be. *dot of ink* One never knows, but the ones I have encountered are unlikely to.)
The lady that I met was also of Gilnean extraction, Miss T----. We had originally shared an exchange over freshly-baked cookies. Most of it regarded tokens awarded in the defense of a lady's waistline, such as a handkerchief, which I averred I should accept only if twas clean. And then -- One witnesses the resulting token, days later, presented to me after a meeting with that brightest of innocent smiles: an utterly ridiculous confection of lace and pinkness.
Undaunted and unwilling to retreat, what was a gentleman to do? Dashed if I did not end up tucking it into my hatband as a knight of old was wont to do. (I must confess, it warms one's heart quite to see honest laughter.) Eventually, the thing wound up being folded by Miss T---- into a more acceptable and far more artistic rosette, my sole contribution to the whole being the pin to keep it fastened.