The Pink Paisley

When Doreen accompanied her mother to The Event, she stopped and waited for a pamphlet from an usher named Abe.

Abe smiled and handed Doreen an Event pamphlet and winked at her mom. “Nice to see you bringing your Mom along today,” Abe said.

“Yes but, yes but, Mister, I lost my Pink Paisley today and I don’t know where to look for it.”

Abe crouched to Doreen’s level and looked her in the eyes. “Do you know where you had your Pink Paisley last? Can you remember?”

Doreen shook her head.

“Well, I’m sure your Mom will help you find it after the show’s over,” Abe said. “And, I bet, I just bet that sometime during the show you’ll remember just where you left your Pink Paisley. Then you’ll tug on your Mom’s blouse and tell her you remember exactly where you put it.”

“Really? Really? You think so,” she asked.

“I’m sure of it. Enjoy the show, you two.”

“Thank you, Mister,” Doreen said.

Abe greeted the next customer and asked, “You didn’t take that little girl’s Pink Paisley, did you?”

“No, but I’m often a suspect in these things. I’m pleading the fifth. Poor kid. What’s a Pink Paisley?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Abe said. “I’m not up on pink anything these days. I’ll have to ask my granddaughter when I see her this weekend. Obviously, something kids these days want to cling to.”

“I think I saw it next to the green doodad and the polka-dotted whatchamacallit.”

“Right, but if I were you, I wouldn’t say that too loud in front of that kid. She’s liable to tell you where those two toys are, as well as a hundred other toys you and I have never heard of.”


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