I was wandering around a large bookstore, looking for the fashion books department, when I stumbled upon two cute little girls. The eldest one was walking her younger sister in a bugaboo stroller, and was motherly blabbing to her. They seemed alone, and I decided to have a little chat with the girls. As they looked up to me, I stared into two pairs of radiant blue eyes and angel like faces, framed by bouncy brown curls. We sat down on some little steps in the store, with the stroller parked next to us. Upon turning my head to the left, I noticed their mother: she was absorbed in the book she was holding, apparently forgetting all about the world around her. I recognized this feeling of being completely engrossed by a piece of paper and words - and so I turned back to the little girls and smiled. Let's give her a couple more minutes.
We were in the middle of an interesting discussion about the tea-party they just had at one of their mum's friends and how it resembled the mad tea-party that Alice came across in Wonderland, when the mum suddenly came rushing towards us. "I'm so very sorry that you were burdened with my girls!", she cried. "I completely lost track of time and space," she apologetically said, continuing in a softer, more whispering voice: "and to be quite frank - also of my girls... I cannot believe that just happened!"
I reassured her it was no problem at all and they were very chatty and entertaining. On top of that, they provided inspiration: in what way does normal society resemble Alice in Wonderland's intriguing world of craziness? Obviously, I did not share this thought with her, as calling her friends crazy might leave a slight mark of repulsion.
"Then she said something that made my heart pound twice as fast as when unwrapping my Christmas presents, and that made my blood rush faster than a river bursting out of its dams"
She asked me if she could be of any help in the bookstore, as this was her favourite place to recover her breath after the superficiality of the world she found herself surrounded by daily. She quickly assured me that she would normally "go to the store alone. This honestly was the first time I ever lost sight of my girls". After I informed her on my hunt for the fashion books department, we started talking about my life as a fashion student, and my aspirations to be a writer for a big magazine. She was all ears. Then she said something that made my heart pound twice as fast as when unwrapping my Christmas presents (excluding a gift that holds the name of a particular French fashion house). It made my blood rush faster than a river bursting out of its dams. I felt like how champaign must feel when it's still in its bottle: impatiently waiting to explode, without holding back one single bubble - just dying to be out there in the real world. This lady explained she works for a company that publishes several magazines, such as some rather big shots that you all know. "We just launched Marc Jacobs' own magazine, and we're still looking for people. A good intern would be very useful at the moment. Perhaps you can send me some of your writings?" She looked at me with a big grin, probably laughing at the sight of this silly girl that had her jaw dropped to her chest.
But instead of hearing a divine hallelujah reverberate from high above me, I was rudely disturbed by some heavy hammer drill outside the bookstore. I could see the woman's mouth move, but could not hear a thing of the rest she was saying. And as I slowly found myself getting dizzy, she faded away to the background, and it got dark before my eyes. Damn it. That disturbing noise was no hammer drill - it was my freaking alarm clock.