Why I should never be let loose in the soft toy department
Husband shifted uneasily. He was asking himself several questions. 1. Why has she called me darling? This must be to do with spending money. 2. Why is she talking like a character from an 18th century poem; since when did we 'away' anywhere? It's definitely to do with money if she's trying to use archaic language ironically. 3. Why is she using the word 'purchase' instead of buy? Yes, it's money all right.
Seeing her chance while Husband was still busy uneasily shifting, Fran legged it to the town.
At the shops, Fran looked for something golden. She looked at matching sets of jewellery. Ugh. She looked at golden-coloured boxes for trinkets. Ugh. She looked at anniversary plates with gold trimming which could be hung on a wall. Ugh. She looked at despair.
Then she spotted Wilfred, a toy duck, in the soft toy department. Wilfred didn't know he was called Wilfred at this point. Neither did Fran. Wilfred didn't actually know what the hell he was, being the most un-duck-like-looking toy duck in toy duck history. Here is a description of Wilfred [I haven't yet learned to post pictures, so listen up]:
not shaped like a duck
shaped like a duck that has been dropped from a great height and gone SPLAT on a hard surface so that he has a totally flat base and all the duck features have been shoved upwards
body two feet long and beak eight inches long, so proportionally more anteater than duck
two flippers, each about six inches long, sticking out on either side of his body, so proportionally, more aeroplane than duck
no legs in between body and flippers
wearing a yellow bow
coloured yellow (this was his only real duck feature, but without all the others, he could have been a banana, the sun or a cheap light bulb)