Post by Margaret Burns on Aug 25, 2008 0:10:12 GMT -5
Margaret was in a foul mood- not as if that was anything out of the ordinary. So far this morning, her father had referred to her as Charlotte, Elisabeth, Robert (which she was quite offended by), and Emily (which she was extremely offended by, as she was quite sure that the man didn't even know an Emily). He had asked her to go into town to buy fresh vegetables- well, he'd actually asked Emily to do so, but since Emily, whoever she may be, wasn't present, Margaret had gone to the market instead.
She stomped down the street, shoving through crowds of people and receiving very dirty looks in response. Someone even started to yell when she smacked him in the side with the basket she was carrying. As far as Margaret was concerned, though, he had it coming- he was standing where she was walking, after all.
Loudly grumbling about inconveniently placed people, Margaret stormed over to the vegetable stand and extended the basket to the vendor. "Fill this," she said loudly.
The vendor was a small, mousy-looking man with wide eyes and bushy eyebrows that looked as if they could disappear beneath his cap at any moment. He had a look of perpetual shock on his face and Margaret was unable to tell if she'd frightened the man or if he was just staring at her. Whichever it was, it was not filling the basket, and Margaret was sure to let him know this.
"I know it can be very confusing," she said, "but generally when one person asks another to do something, the former would like the latter to complete the task sometime within the year of which the request was made!" As she went on, her volume increased, causing several passersby to stop and stare. The vendor had slowly shrunk down as Margaret had addressed him, so it was quite shocking when he stood up, straightened his cap, held out the basket, and firmly explained that it was his job to sell vegetables, not to take orders from his customers.
Margaret contemplated the idea of cramming a cucumber down his throat, but that was something that was usually frowned upon. Instead, she scowled and reached out, snatching back the basket. Though she went about gathering vegetables, she didn't fail to make it apparent that she was fantastically peeved and very displeased that she had to collect her own carrots.
Taking a wrong step, the heel of Margaret's shoe caught on the curb and she stumbled backward, bumping into someone. Luckily, the vegetables remained safely in the basket, preventing an already irritated Margaret from pitching a fit. She turned around to see who had been in her way, fully prepared to blame the other person for what was entirely her fault. (Though it was really the curb's fault, if the blame had to be put on something- it was not a very well-placed curb.)
Placing a hand on her hip, she raised an eyebrow and drawled, "Well, excuse me..."
She stomped down the street, shoving through crowds of people and receiving very dirty looks in response. Someone even started to yell when she smacked him in the side with the basket she was carrying. As far as Margaret was concerned, though, he had it coming- he was standing where she was walking, after all.
Loudly grumbling about inconveniently placed people, Margaret stormed over to the vegetable stand and extended the basket to the vendor. "Fill this," she said loudly.
The vendor was a small, mousy-looking man with wide eyes and bushy eyebrows that looked as if they could disappear beneath his cap at any moment. He had a look of perpetual shock on his face and Margaret was unable to tell if she'd frightened the man or if he was just staring at her. Whichever it was, it was not filling the basket, and Margaret was sure to let him know this.
"I know it can be very confusing," she said, "but generally when one person asks another to do something, the former would like the latter to complete the task sometime within the year of which the request was made!" As she went on, her volume increased, causing several passersby to stop and stare. The vendor had slowly shrunk down as Margaret had addressed him, so it was quite shocking when he stood up, straightened his cap, held out the basket, and firmly explained that it was his job to sell vegetables, not to take orders from his customers.
Margaret contemplated the idea of cramming a cucumber down his throat, but that was something that was usually frowned upon. Instead, she scowled and reached out, snatching back the basket. Though she went about gathering vegetables, she didn't fail to make it apparent that she was fantastically peeved and very displeased that she had to collect her own carrots.
Taking a wrong step, the heel of Margaret's shoe caught on the curb and she stumbled backward, bumping into someone. Luckily, the vegetables remained safely in the basket, preventing an already irritated Margaret from pitching a fit. She turned around to see who had been in her way, fully prepared to blame the other person for what was entirely her fault. (Though it was really the curb's fault, if the blame had to be put on something- it was not a very well-placed curb.)
Placing a hand on her hip, she raised an eyebrow and drawled, "Well, excuse me..."
