be mine?

Curlylocks, Curlylocks, wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash dishes nor yet feed the swine,
But sit on a cushion, and sew a fine seam,
And feed upon strawberries, sugar, and cream.

In Eric Kincaid‘s rendering, Curlylocks has golden hair and something peevish about her mouth. She sits exquisitely on her cushion while swine run amuck around her. I like the idea of sitting on a cushion and sewing fine seams; I love the idea of following Curlylocks’ diet — once when I was young I broke out in hives from consuming too many strawberries — but I hesitate to be that lazy and peevish looking. Work is good; exquisite pouting will not do for a healthy lifestyle. What fun, then, to unpack my lunch at work and find that kind hands have placed, among my more ordinary foods, strawberries and real whipped cream.

Aren’t these, after all, rather wonderful moments, when the fairy tale and real life brush against one another, and the little teaching assistant in sweater and scarf finds herself, for a moment, a pampered princess in a blue silk gown?

The things promised are more wonderful than the sum of all fairy tales.  Go grade your papers, little teacher; you are His.

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