Won't You Join the Dance?

The Moleskines and I prepared a small welcome party for the newest addition to our gluten-free family, a brand-new soft-covered beauty measuring 5 by 8.5 inches. I have found this to be the optimum size for my scribblings and the adhesion of clippings, photos, e-mails and other blogging requirements.

Upon her arrival chez Fractured Amy we regifted the newcomer with a beautiful and very stylish kimono, kindly sent to us by the MiM (Mom in Maine) - who, we all agreed, has excellent taste in notecards. The present prompted a rather chilly response from its recipient, which we attributed to our new arrival's discomfiture in an unfamiliar social setting. 

From the way she preened before the mirror when she thought we weren't looking, however, we gathered the image-change was a big hit.

Regrettably, her newfound glamor seemed to have an unfortunate effect on her manners. She turned her attention to Moleskine One, proud wearer of a plain black cover adorned with a variety of stains and watermarks nobly earned in the service of gluten-freedom. 'Don't you think you've let yourself go, a bit?' she sniffed. 'Black is SO two years ago, and not at all swimming in a notebook. And I would never want to go all bendy like that - you look like you have couverture of the spline.'

Moleskine One fled howling to the next room before I could parse this sentence in a way that actually made sense.

Moleskine II, resplendent in his colorful cover and always brimming with enthusiasm, attempted to make friends. 'Oohhh! You are a COOL quad-ruled notebook just like me! We'll be best pals FOREVER!'

She was having none of it. 'I am NOT quad-ruled and certainly nothing like you,' she retorted. 'I am a Carnie Espadrille.'

An image of a rope-soled sandal-wearing ferris-wheel operator flashed through my mind and I was was poised to question her phraseology - but Moleskine II had already concluded that some gentle hazing was in order.

'What's that? You want to join the Lafayette Escadrille?'

'No, no. Espadrille. You know, like the French prison.' 

'You'd like to go out to the garden and pick a jonquille?'

'You're being ridiculous. That's what they make bathrobes out of!'

'You used to have a pet gerbille? You come from Louisville?'

'No, no! Espadrille!'

'You wish you could see reruns of Desi and Lucille? This is turning into a real vaudeville!'

I feared it would come to blows and removed Moleskine II to the far corner of the kitchen, where he sat alternately chortling to himself and threatening to 'Go on vacation and NEVER come back not even in a MILLION years.'

The new notebook insisted I go to the bin and dig out the plastic wrapper in which she had made her way home. 'There it is,' she declared, 'Dear as clay. Carnie Espadrille. It's prognosticated right on the label.'

What she is, I discovered, is a carnet quadrille, as in the Lewis Carroll poem about lobsters, snails and other deep-see adventurers.

*Sigh*

I foresee a difficult relationship.