Then there was a rare moment when the rabbits eyes became a window for Alice to look through. Momentarily she was the voyeur.
At times she felt she had finally made it to tarthood, and then.
She felt like that big shoe that the woman who had so many children lived in. The checks had turned into housing commission tower windows that just went on and on. Wouls there ever be anough housing commission flats. Each window peered into a room full of children with a mother that also looked like another tower of housing commission flats with her own windows that peeked into more families with more mothers who looked like housing commision flats.
They were supposed to be playing chess.
The rabbit and two tarts were all int he sack together.
There was no doubt about what anyone was doing.
“Its your turn rabbit!”
“Ha Ha Ha, he’s been ‘aving ‘is turn all along!”
Alice could only imagine eels ferreting around in the wet riverbanks.
Alice thought that she wouldn’t wear a bra. But that pointed to about the same thing as wearing a bra did.
Reveal your inner wrist. It makes you appear vulnerable and ripe.
Don’t be making gingerbread men or eating onions till you’re at least 25.
Though the caterpiller verbally claimed to be entranced by her capacious white puffed sleeves, he unconsciously pawed at where her nipple raised a crease in her clothing. It was then that she noticed that the caterpiller was left-handed.
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