Writing my last post about the hot dog and wiener nesters, I found myself being reminded of a scene in one of my favourite books for young people, Brian Doyle’s Angel Square, and especially this scene describing a conversation the main character has with one of his classmates:
I was remembering something that happened with Fleurette Featherstone Fitchell in my laneway one time.
She drew an oval in the dirt with a stick. Then she cut it in half with another line. It looked like the side view of a hamburger bun.
She asked me if I knew what it was.
“It’s a hamburger bun from the side,” I said.
“No it isn’t, silly!” she said. “It’s something I’ve got that you haven’t got.” Then she drew what looked like a cigar in the dirt with her stick.
“Guess what that is,” she said.
“A cigar,” I said.
“No it isn’t, silly!” she said.
Then she asked me if I wanted to see hers.
He never does get to see hers; it’s a novel for children. But anyone who wants to can look at my hot dog by viewing my last post. And, for that matter, my hot dog bun. And by the way, I intended no sexual innuendo in the reference to my last post. It was purely accidental.