Sunday, March 22, 2009
Off the Cuff
At the top end of Markham Street, well away from the shops and clubs, where the commercial properties bleed into residential townhouses, lives an old woman*. She has no Sight, does not hear ghosts, is not a witch or a supernatural creature or even related to one. She is a seamstress and an open minded one at that. She has no qualms about making a satin evening gown for a burly fireman or a black opera cloak for a lady with a lisp. She was, however, taken aback when Harold took her his favourite shirt after it was shredded by a dog** and asked her to “sew a shirt on this cuff.”
*’old’ is relative. She’s older than Harold, anyway.