[Magdalen] Grrr....

[Molly Wolf]

I need to whinge and fume.

As many of you know, I make jewelry (hi Jay!).  Unlike Jay, my stuff is 
strung beads.  I sell at a lovely shop in Alexandria Bay, NY, called Bay 
House, an artisans'/artists' co-operative.  I work shifts there, like 
most of the other members, and I was on duty this afternoon.

Last week, I took in a set I was especially happy with: rhombus 
(square-on-diagonal) cinnabar beads with Czech druk beads (glass) and 
seed beads:  necklace and matching earrings and bracelet.  I don't have 
a picture of it, more's the pity.  But it was a lovely little thing.  I 
sold it this afternoon to a couple from Ohio.

Normally, it's a joy to sell my stuff: partly to get it out of the shop 
so I can make more, and partly because it's like giving a kitten to a 
good home.  But while I was ringing up the sale, the buyers got into a 
conversation with other customers, about the current U.S. political 
scene, and it turned out they were ardent Hilary-slandering 
liberal-media-bashing frothing Trumpites. (Although even so, she 
expressed the wish that he'd shut his mouth. Dream on, lady.)

I am a professional.  I did not snatch my lovely little cinnabar set 
back from their undeserving hands and bellow "you can't have it!" I 
completed the sale, took their money, and bade them goodbye pleasantly.  
But I'm still fuming.

I just bought a whole bunch of those cinnabar beads from Panda Hall and 
I am going to recreate the set and sell it to someone who deserves it.  
So there.

Grrr.

Molly