Pebblethief
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Pebblethief is told by trusted sources that she was
a precocious, petulant and annoying child. Hopefully she grew out of it.
If you were trying to find her marbles you'd never do it cos she's been
trying to do it for years with no success.
If you wanted to take her somewhere nice you'd be onto a winner if you
included places in the company of lots of family or friends, or perhaps
on a beach on a clear day with a good colourful sunset, laughing so hard
she can't get her breath. She like high up places but can't look over
the edge without her legs turning to jelly.
If you find yourself in a pub with her, you couldn't go wrong by buying
her a red wine (pinotage), linesfarne mead, pulpy orange juice with or
without vodka, and as the night wears on Aftershock or Glayva. But you'd
have to slow down or she's be dancing to Loveshack and twisting that ankle
again.
If you wanted to buy her a gift you'd be thanked most heartily for getting
her anything small and shiney, preferably coloured bluey-grey, greyey-blue,
rosey pink, or made with non-deteriorating natural materials in a sandy
granite stylee.
If you wanted to help her in the garden you'd be roped into cutting grass,
trimming eucalyptus, plumping catmint, repairing cotoneaster, curling
nasturtiums, clipping holly, harvesting ivy, and just simply looking lovingly
at scabius.
If you were sitting watching TV with her, you'd be critically analyzed
by two handsome cats, which if you didn't like what was on the screen
you could try unsuccessfully to out-stare.
She's a stone-loving, people-hugging, cat-cuddling, pro-beauty hoarder
with perhaps too much but what feels like too little time on her hands.
She's also known to be an anti-bogbrush, anti-organic antangonist with
a tendancy towards paranoia. She's at other times a moon-watching cancarian
who doesn't like to admit she reads horoscopes.
She's mostly too honest and hates liars most of all. Wonders if the world
would be more perfect if we all told the truth more. She likes history
and is afraid of the future.
.oOo.
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