Thursday, October 23, 2008

The French Pear

He had left a French pear on the table for her. When she saw it she was surprised. A pear? she thought to herself. And he, squatting beneath the table, could tell by her face what she had thought. It’s not a pear! He screamed from the floor. It’s not a pear!

She hated how he could always tell just exactly what she was thinking. I know that, she said. Of course it’s not a pear.

She hurried from the room, and he remained squatting under the table.

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