Gloria’s bottlebrush:

Callistimon viminalis
I feel that far too many people nowadays, starting with myself, are too quick to take offense; but still, yet another occasion for it has come to my attention.

There have been a couple of fatal shark attacks on the west coast in the past week. Both followed the usual pattern in which the victim is bitten and then bleeds to death before he can be got to the hospital.

Surely I’m not the only person who would be just horribly offended if some shark bit off half my leg and then, instead of finding it the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, shuddered and spat it out. My abhorrence of the waste of food is even greater when the food is me.

More research completes the pattern. The shark attack victims we read about are all tough and stringy and just stinking of testosterone. On the other hand, have you ever heard of a shark attack on a prepubescent parochial schoolgirl?

I thought not.

That’s because there’s never a morsel left, and the rosary sinks to the bottom of the sea.

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