You of course will no doubt have to see it to believe it. But let me venture to tell you of a damsel called Victoria. I pined for her immediately mine eyes caught sight of her. That was eons ago when in golden hour light , she cast her elegance, brought her stride into her craft .
A juice parlour she ran. Right at the entrance of a big store so that one would never miss it as it offered quite a retinue of distractions with the items on display on the glass counter. But chief among them was Victoria. It was then possible to forget all about the shopping bucket list assignment in the first place and end up lounging in her parlor sampling all the little wonders she had crafted by hand: squashing, crushing and mixing all kinds of vegetables and fruits into a panoply of tastes for the pallet. Some delectable, some not so much.
But there was a double helix of a problem, for most of her male patrons among whom I number. Aside from getting distracted from the shopping by her imposing parlor and being completely side-tracked ingesting her curios, she herself was an insurmountable distraction. Why ? She is irresistible. Standing in her comely light, she has the brightest , dazzling and most gentle eyes ever. The warmest smile there is. She would go about talking to her patrons like a curator in an art gallery. Explaining every creation with such striking detail.
I once ventured to inquire about some craft cocktail featuring the beet root, fascinated by its bloody look, ” It requires an acquired taste” she retorted. ” It tastes like soil”, she warned.