But I do think you have to watch out, even in these garish times; you have to watch out for the point at which the splendor collapses into absurdity. Maybe they are all watching out, all the old women I see on Queen Street: the fat woman with pink hair; the eighty-year-old with painted-on black eyebrows; they may all be thinking they haven’t gone too far yet, not quite yet. Even the buttercup woman I saw a few days ago on the streetcar, the little, stout, sixtyish woman in a frilly yellow dress well above the knees, a straw hat with yellow ribbons, yellow pumps dyed-to-match on her little fat feet—even she doesn’t aim for comedy. She sees a flower in the mirror: the generous petals, the lovely buttery light.
Alice Munro i novellen Bardon Bus fra samlingen The Moons of Jupiter
Jeg både vil og ikke vil passe på. For tiden er jeg opptatt av rødoransje, og ser for meg at jeg kan gå inn i alderdommen som en slags rødoransje versjon av Mia Berner. Det er vel ikke det verste.
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