My friend Laura said I’d ruined it for her. I felt a little bad about that. It really was beautiful. But the truth is, it’s just not my style. Maybe when I was younger, but not now.
See, there is a seashell that I simply don’t like—and ironically, it is among the prettiest, hardiest, and glossiest on the beach. We ran across a whole slew of them while beach-combing after a storm the other day. Laura bent down and picked up a fat one—as big as half-smoked cigar—and I said, “Oh, I don’t much like olive shells.” She looked at me like I’d said I hate ice-cream, puppies and newborn babies. I knew I had some splainin’ to do. Continue Reading