‘I’ve been cut in half-moons!’ the lady holding her cane claims. ‘Fifteen arranged on one side, fifteen on staggered rows, and fifteen others the other way around.’

She tried to take a step forward but her small feet have swollen under all the extra weight.

‘That is forty five half-moons piled up in between my head and my knees. That is a lot, don’t you think?’

It is hard to say if the lady feels more embarrassed than confused. She is certainly exhausted. The frail cane she holds on to will break soon if she doesn’t take a seat.

We told her to take off her hat, that it might be adding unnecessary weight but she refuses to un-style herself just because some half-moons decided to intrude upon her body.

‘I will keep my hat on as I always do each day. I never take it off, why should I today?’

The lady is persistent but internally she hopes and prays that no more half-moons will stack up under the existent ones. She is an opera singer and each time she attempts to utter a sound, she oscillates from left to right, the half-moons rattling inside. Off balance but not willing to give up so soon, she unexpectedly falls back into place, all half-moons stored nicely. This goes on for a moment. She clears her throat.

‘Ahem. Lalalalaaaaaa-aaaaaaah’.

This time she nearly didn’t catch herself, bending her cane in a half-moon, and bouncing back to finally steadying herself.

‘Oh! The irony of it all!’ screams the opera lady in her hat. ‘The irony of it all!’.

Listen while reading: Magnetic Rag by Scott Joplin