Madge, a woman whose age was a closely guarded secret (somewhere north of eighty), loved two things: her prize-winning petunias and her ridiculously ornate collection of novelty buckles. She had buckles shaped like lobsters, spaceships, and even a tiny, rather disturbing, pickle. This passion led to her annual “Buckle Bonanza,” a highly anticipated (mostly by Madge) event where she’d display her collection to anyone unfortunate enough to be within shouting distance.
This year’s Bonanza was particularly special. Madge had acquired a magnificent, diamond-encrusted buckle shaped like a giant frog. “Behold!” she announced to her bewildered neighbour, Agnes, who was visiting mostly out of obligation. Agnes, clutching a lukewarm cup of tea, squinted at the frog. “It’s… sparkly, Madge.”
Madge puffed out her chest. “Sparkly doesn’t even begin to cover it, Agnes! This, my dear, is a testament to my discerning eye and…a very good sale at the flea market!” She paused for dramatic effect. “And I’ve decided to… wear it!”
With a mighty heave, Madge attempted to fasten the frog buckle onto her already buckle-laden belt. The effort involved groans, grunts, and a surprising amount of hopping. Agnes watched, sipping her tea, a slight tremor of concern in her hand.
Finally, with a triumphant yell, Madge declared, “Success!” But her victory was short-lived. The sheer weight of the frog buckle, coupled with the other twenty or so buckles already adorning her belt, caused Madge to topple over, landing with a resounding thud amongst her petunias.
Agnes rushed over, helping Madge to her feet. Madge, dusting herself off, surveyed the damage. “Well,” she chuckled, “at least the petunias got a good watering.” Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she added, “And the frog finally got his lily pad!”
