I still remember those November nights when Granny and I curled up next to the fire and she would start to fantasize. She was a storyteller, Granny, her dream was to write them down and make the world fall asleep with her twisted phrases in mind. And every night, she would go to the little table, after putting me in bed, and write each one of them down, remembering every word she had pronounced an hour before.
One of those, I remember, it talked about a very special company having a tea party.
“They were women, you see, all dressed up nicely, chatty tell tales trying to impress a world just as wonky as themselves.
Oh! They where made of all sorts of things and looked even more peculiar then a tiger with a moustache and thinking of it, one of them used one as a bow. They where mixtures of animals and objects, it seemed like, but yet again of the most unusual sort. Some had door handles as hands or noses, or bobby pins as eyelashes! Peacock feather hair and leopard skin as tongues