Maeva and Myrna raced to the 50 cent store for a pleasant afternoon romp, looking for trinkets to make themselves pretty. The Caribbean happy music playing over the speakers and the smiles of the friendly Jamaican at the register accompanied their romp through the shop. They rhythmed right past the usual fashion trash, hair pins and plastic jewels, and freestyled over to the kitchen selection. "But kitchens are for girls!" balked Maeva to Myrna who slyly raved "Ah, but kitchens are for grrrls!" Now the grrrl-minds grooved. They giggled at visions of night-long dances wrapped in aluminum foil and dish cloth headbands, and whistled out loud at the whim of tie-dyed aprons and unadorned backs. "Wouldn't we be delicious?" they seemed to wink at each other as devious ideas directed their fingers from item to item of conventional utensils that might be applied towards fun. They left in glee with pots on their heads. "I'm General Maeva of the grrrl army," Maeva saluted to Myrna, while Myrna licked her lips at the thought of how lethal a pot could be if needed. At home they modeled their new acquisitions and prepared to meet the boys. "Don't forget your spatula!" Myrna exclaimed, licking that half-smile again.

Story #292