You’ve got cheek, Blossom, when it comes to fitting a shoe, railing at an eggplant propped like a pillow, plucking a button from the shoulder of the monster, misting the monkey’s mouth or laying down a slippery law for the eels cornering you.But what happens when the war comes home, when the chips crack and crumble, when the plates break and thunder rolls over the chimney? What happens when the crows come back to hurl insults and the jokers fall where they may? What happens when the rhinuncula weep, and the roses sag? What happens when the wheezing starts and the tickle tightens in the throat? What happens when your lips smear, and rain batters your cheekbones?
Then raise a glass. Then send up a salvo. Then open your cups and whirl in the blossoms, your skirts swirling. Then light the weeds with your sassy sashay, your brilliant silk, your lush lamp. Then tell me about pluck.