They were cuddled together midway through the long Kisan shop in Soho.
Gaxotte's necklaces (from her "rose" collection) imagine rather large creatures--mice, a girl with cat ears (I know, but still)--and they wear odd fabric garments. Suspended from a heavy chain, they're kind of fairy tale noir,
with a hint of Degas ballet dancer,
a dollop of Peau d'ane,
and a sprinkling of She Was Nice To Mice, which I knew intimately from the pages of Seventeen magazine when I was about 12 or 13.
Its author, Ally Sheedy, made a different impression on me during her Breakfast Club scene when she shook dandruff out of her hair, creating a snowfall. At least I think it was dandruff and not a sequel called She Was Nice To Lice.
Although I would l.o.v.e. to wear one of these necklaces to class when I teach Peau d'ane, I won't be doing so unless I find my own Rumplestiltskin, who can spin some gold without any catches. My beautiful first-born turns 13 today and I intend to enjoy her company.