I never really knew my great Auntie Hilda all that well.
I saw her on occassion and was fascinated by her immaculate marcel-waved hair and flambuoyant glasses.
But she seemed to be from a different time, a different world all together.
I was given a huge pile of her costume jewellery when she died.
And as I sifted through the diamantes and rhinestones, little snippets of her life emerged.
There were keep sakes from dances and souvenirs from holidays.
And there was this:
Never would I have imagined my great Aunt Hilda owning, never mind treasuring, a Popeye brooch (with movable forearm nonetheless!)
And then I realised what I had done, something that I deplore with all my heart.
I had pre-judged and pigeon-holed.
And for that I am truly sorry Auntie Hilda.
Every time I wear this I will remember the lesson that you taught me, and I shall wear my bling with pride.