The five of hearts did agree with Alice that painting the petals red was an endless job.
What with new buds popping up everyday.
“Nevertheless” he said, it was how he made his living and made meaning.
“It’s a pattern”, railed Alice.
“And you are just a pattern called Alice,” exploded the indignant card.
As he exploded Alice blinked twice.
So she was not the only indignant person in the world.
The peices of card violently fell around her ears. Then another five of hearts hurried up with a fresh paintbrush to replace the old one.
There was something reassuring about white fluffy clouds and the colour of the sky matching your dress. She could float upwards camouflaged.
Sometimes when Alice had to cook dinner for 856 hungry children, she went out to paint the roses,
with pretend paint.
If it wasn’t a child’s birthday party or a mad t-party then it was an invitation to play crocquet from the Queen. “OOOHHH La La said the mad hatter as Alice downed her thirtieth cup of tea and went to stand up but he had already poured her another before she could get away. I’m sick of parties thought Alice, and I shall probably feel obliged to go home with yet another plastic container.
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