This is reminding me of “The Little Prince.” In certain ways, at least. For one, I’m pretty sure they’re on a geometrically precise, perfectly round planet about 40 feet across. For two, that ‘s self-evidently a baobab tree, and those things are well-known destroyers of small, spherical worlds.If I was living on a geometrically precise sphere 40 feet wide, I’d seriously talk to my landscaper about using any plant much larger than creeping thyme.

“Oh John, it’s perfect! Except…”

“Except, oh love of my life?”

“It’s a small thing.”

“Give me the word, and I will fix it. Anything for you.”

“Well…”

“This was to be our dream house, Martha. Live the dream.”

“I can’t fit my shoulders through the front door. And the windows are on the small side as well, small and shingled over. And the roof looks not so much like a roof, but more like a Jello Pudding Pop left in the sun for 10 minutes, just long enough to start melting a bit but before the ants show up. And I’m not sure about that tree. I think it might be a toilet paper tube. A BIG toilet paper tube, with twigs and coconuts stuck in the top. One of them fell off and rolled around the planet.”

“So…we should probably just start over then, is what you’re saying.”

“I’d not rule it out.”

“We do have great access to the sun, you know. That was in the brochure.”

“Maybe that’s why the roof is falling over, some sort of a collision on a low pass.”

Theory #2, and this is almost always theory #2–it’s an allegory for death. I mean, look, the guy’s wearing a halo and the girl’s got a strange radiant aura and may in fact be bigger than a house, which you won’t be able to fit into. Sounds like a Sartre play to me.

Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin

There’s nothing quite like a snappy, well-dressed plate.

It’s not the sort of plate you’d want to eat off of every day. Or, indeed, ever. In fact, you’d really want to avoid foods with any sort of sauce, anywhere near it, because it would be totally impossible to avoid staining lapels that big with gravy, or worse, mustard, that stuff never comes out. And you couldn’t take that suit to the cleaners, really, because it’d convert directly to lint with 100% efficiency. That’s why people don’t wear felt anymore.

Although, I’m not so sure that’s a suit. This may be some sort of dapper Greek goddess, who like Athena before her, springing full-blown from the head of Zeus, is slowly forcing her way out of a pinto bean and into divinity. That’s probably why she’s wearing a shirt and hat made of tablecloth. She’s the new-risen goddess of simple table fare. And good for her.

It is a her, right? Because the mustache is giving me kind of a weird vibe. Really, all the facial hair is a little strange. The weird m-bird lipsmear is just bizaare, but the strange black hemicircles under her slit eyes–or weird, dark eyes under molecularly thin eyebrows–either one, basically pretty abnormal. We’re not even going to discuss her neck, because there isn’t one. This is an exercise in cleverly-balanced ovals wearing a snappy hat.

Plate-ladies. Serve one with dinner. Pass the plate, start a conversation.

Savers on North Loop and Burnet, Austin

Okay, Goodwill, let’s just pause, step back a bit, and address some quality control issues, okay? Just a few…little…things. This goes beyond “make sure the Easter Bunny has a head when you sell them,” and far, far past “the box with the picture of the small personal stereo should ideally contain a small personal stereo, and not just be a box, because we cannot sell just a box, no matter how good our intentions are we are NOT trying to sell the flash.” No, this is a very basic, very simple concept.

If you sell a plate, rinse off the plate, okay? Seriously. We know it’s used, we don’t need a demonstration.

“Hi, I’m Nelma.”

“Hi, Nelma. You’re in a safe place here.”

“I’m with the group because…”

“Let it out, Nelma. Let the pain out.”

“sniff.”

“It’s okay, baby, you’re with friends here.”

“I came here because I have a perfectly flat face and a perfectly flat head and my hair’s done up like Wolverine and I’ve stuck blueberries to the side of my head.”

“That’s good baby, you’re with friends here. We all got flat faces and flat heads and Wolverine hair and blueberries on the sides of our heads. We got to stick together.”

“I love you all.”

“We love you too, Logan.”

“Logan?”

“I mean, Nelma.”

…So, Goodwill?
Yes?
This is about that thing we were talking about before?
Thing? We were talking about a thing?
Yeah, the, uh, thing about washing plates before you sell them.

Uh…why? Were you talking about something like that?
Yeah, just like, five paragraphs ago. Before the crazy snub-nosed victorian girl with the salad bowl for a hat.
She was pretty cool.
You’re changing the subject.
No, I’m not. You never said anything about washing plates. I totally didn’t hear that. La la la la.
You’ve got your fingers in your ears, Goodwill.
Do not.

Okay, just…never mind.

You know, it’s been like five years and I’m not sure where “Plate with Food” came from. I have a vague recollection of thinking it was the most disgusting thing I’d seen at the Savers on South Lamar, but I was proven wrong later. Pretty pretty princess…which, really, isn’t a plate, but it was round, and that’s kind of on topic, right?…from Texas Thrift on I35 and 51st, Princess Wolverine from Salvation Army on 183 near 620, Austin.