Never Judge A Book By Its Bling.

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.

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