We had set up our booth yesterday and were here, bright and early, to do some pricing on the various treasures and trash we were foisting upon an unsuspecting public.I moved to an electric panel on the wall nearby and began switching switches, illuminating the large room, section by section. When I turned back to Mother, she was heading up the center aisle toward the front of the store.Soon I was hurrying after her and then, as I rounded the row, bumped full-force into Mother, who had doubled back, knocking the wind out of both of us.“Dear, please,” she said gasping for breath, “please don’t…”“Don’t what?”“Don’t look. It’s horrible. Simply grotesque.”Despite her agitated state, and the melodramatic words, Mother seemed atypically untheatrical.Now, I ask you…if somebody tells you not to look, especially if it’s “horrible,” and “simply grotesque,” what is any reasonable person going to do?Right.Not only are you going to look, but you have to look, you must look…. Murder wasn’t the beginning.
