Amy had never been so pinched and pampered her whole life. The fairies washed her hair and scrubbed her face till her cheeks were sore and smarting. They dried her till she thought she might peel. And then they dressed her in gauzy fine things and tied lovely-smelling flowers in her braid, and turned her around so they could see her from every odd angle, and adjust her sash here, her bracelet there. Perhaps they meant to please, but it all made Amy rather hot and unhappy. She didn’t want to be rude, but she was tired of being treated like a doll, and missed the weight of her sword at her side.
“Where is my sword?” she asked. “I’m not going without Bear-Biter.”
Wallie the Imp and I love learning foreign languages. However, no matter how much one enjoys a subject, there are times when learning is less a pleasure than an exercise. Having learned only the rudiments of Impish myself, I have to admit that learning a language is slow going. And how better to explore this frustration than by introducing French at the Mad Tea Party?
The truth of the matter is, in addressing this confessional prompt—that is, the call to describe a time when you were furious out of your senses—Wallie, my Friend, and I were unwilling to think beyond acknowledging that we had perhaps known anger once, prior to evolvement.