Two households, both alike indignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;
Whose misadventures and pitiful overthrows
Doth with their depth bury their parents' strife.
The frightful passage of their pock-marked desire,
And the continuance of their parents' glee,
Which persisted, despite their children's ire,
Is now the pages of blogging you will see;
The which if you with patient eyes attend,
What humour you doth miss in life, our toil shall strive to mend.

#4



Dear Diary,

Mother says I must be coached in the arts of a lady. Mother says I have to learn how to embroider and cook and learn to look pretty. Mother says I must wear make-up and nice dresses. I don't mind the last part, but why oh why must I cook??

We went over to the Montagues' today, they had some kind of a feast thing. Something about auspicious stars and whatnot. At any rate, I had to look pleasant and smile while sitting next to Romeo at the table and enduring all the hints that they didn't bother to veil very heavily.

My only consolation is that he looked as uncomfortable about it as I felt. At least there's this one thing we seem to agree upon.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)