How I Wish I Hadn’t Just Eaten that Bag of Skittles

It’s not like I didn’t already know about the scary, scary food-additive situation. The hormones and antibiotics, the pesticide residue on fruits and vegetables, all that mysterious gibberish printed in the ingredients of just about ANYTHING.

But crushed bugs in my candy? And we’re DYEING the chicken now, for pity’s sake?

What’s left to eat?

Besides chocolate, of course: nature’s perfect food.

Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button?

"Well, how do you like them?" said Marilla.

Anne was standing in the gable room, looking solemnly
at three new dresses spread out on the bed. One was of snuffy colored
gingham which Marilla had been tempted to buy from a peddler the
preceding summer because it looked so serviceable; one was of
black-and-white checkered sateen which she had picked up at a bargain
counter in the winter; and one was a stiff print of an ugly blue shade
which she had purchased that week at a Carmody store.

She had made them up herself, and they were all made
alike—plain skirts fulled tightly to plain waists, with sleeves as
plain as waist and skirt and tight as sleeves could be.

"I’ll imagine that I like them," said Anne soberly.

"I don’t want you to imagine it," said Marilla,
offended. "Oh, I can see you don’t like the dresses! What is the matter
with them? Aren’t they neat and clean and new?"

"Yes."

"Then why don’t you like them?"

"They’re—they’re not—pretty," said Anne reluctantly.

"Pretty!" Marilla sniffed. "I didn’t trouble my head
about getting pretty dresses for you. I don’t believe in pampering
vanity, Anne, I’ll tell you that right off. Those dresses are good,
sensible, serviceable dresses, without any frills or furbelows about
them, and they’re all you’ll get this summer. The brown gingham and the
blue print will do you for school when you begin to go. The sateen is
for church and Sunday school. I’ll expect you to keep them neat and
clean and not to tear them. I should think you’d be grateful to get
most anything after those skimpy wincey things you’ve been wearing."

"Oh, I AM grateful," protested Anne. "But I’d be ever
so much gratefuller if—if you’d made just one of them with puffed
sleeves. Puffed sleeves are so fashionable now. It would give me such a
thrill, Marilla, just to wear a dress with puffed sleeves."

—from Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery

As you can see right over there in the left sidebar, I’ve added a nifty button linking to the BlogCarnival archives for the Carnival of Children’s Literature. You can clicky clicky to find all the previous editions and submission info for the next one (which will be hosted on August 18th by Castle of the Immaculate). And we have some terrific blogs lined up to host the next few months’ carnivals: Wands & Worlds in September; Scholar’s Blog in October; and A Readable Feast in November.

However, while undeniably serviceable, the button isn’t much of a looker, is it? I don’t suppose any of the graphically gifted among you would like to design a Carnival of Children’s Literature button, would you? Maybe, please? Perhaps something with, just to throw out a wild idea, books? We (and by this I mean the royal we, you know) would be ever so grateful. Puffed sleeves: optional.