But let me start by saying, I have never made friends with the word "vignette".
Now vinaigrette, on the other hand, that word I like.
But vignette? It sounds hoity-toity to me. It brings to my mind elaborate museum displays that are to be looked at, not touched.
Yes, vignettes abound in blogville. And if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that ya'll are not a hoity-toity bunch.
I just can't do it. Consider this the note from my Mama, excusing me from gym class on dodge-ball day due to a mysterious ailment. Just trust me and maybe look the other way. I'll be back for floor hockey and bowling and that strange game in which we push one another around the gymnasium on the small, square, wheeled scooters.
I'll be with you for all the rest.
She needs a pretty little grouping. Lucky for her, the wire cloche that rode home piggy-back makes for the perfect starting point.
Come to Mama, tiny golden hammers. We'll cozy you right up between the vintage telephone pole insulators.
Until now.
If you're gonna just sit around, Harriet, you might as well make yourself useful and look pretty.
Rumor has it, they're difficult to kill.
But I'm always up for a challenge.