HEARD IT SECOND HAND

The thing about second hands is that you've got to be the right sort to appreciate them. So many people look down on things just because someone else has had them first. Or maybe because they're not entirely new. But then what would that say about Charlie? He's no spring chicken and I think he's absolutely priceless. Not that Charlie has been had by someone else, I certainly think that he has not. But that is really not the direction I was going here.

Isabel says that she and I can appreciate a good second hand something because we are comfortable in our own skin and we enjoy the hunt. Isabel is so good with words, really, she should be penning the advice column, absolutely. And her advice is always spot on, you know. I would never think to compare being comfortable with enjoying a good browse thru a garage sale or trip to the Second Hand store. But I do. Enjoy the garage sales and Second Hand store, that is. And I've found some lovely things, too. Why just last summer I picked up a set of 6 Royal Albert tea cups, with saucers, at the Second Hand store. And what a good thing I did because my Women's Club is holding a tea cup drive at the moment, and now I have 6 tea cups already without even having to dip into my good china.

But it was really not the tea cups that day, but a nice gift for Betsy Perkins and her cat, Mr. Marmalade, that prompted me to head out again to the Second Hand store over on West Avenue. A very nice Korean man owns the shop. And though he doesn't speak but a lick of English, we manage to get on with one another quite well. Sometimes, if I'm looking for something in particular and don't see it on display, I'll act out what I'm looking for. Oh Mr. Hueng loves this. He, that's the Second Hand's owner, oh he'll laugh and then he'll act out his answer. Quite amusing, I think, to other customers. But we do enjoy our exchanges. So that day I was all prepared to act out the part of a cat, Mr. Marmalade to be exact. I even practiced round my garden. But there would be no shopping for kitty china once I popped in and found the Officers there.

When I arrived, Captain Leighton and another officer that I don't know where already in the Second Hand in the middle of a conversation with Mr. Heung. Well you can imagine how difficult the discussion was, what with Captain Leighton wanting specific details and poor Mr. Heung trying to act out something that even I couldn't quite understand. He waived frantically, Mr. Heung that is, when he saw me enter. "Missa Toonup" he yelled, and that would be me, except that Mr. Heung pronounces my last name 'Toonup' instead of Turnip. And Missus he pronounces 'Missa'. Not to worry, though, because I know exactly what he is saying so I went straight over to the officer's and offered to help.

Oh well, they said, official police business, privileged and top secret things and what not. But I said to them, they'll get no where fast with Mr. Heung the way they're going about it and it's best to accept a bit of favor when favor is offered. "Missa Toonup", Mr. Heung pointed at me nodding his head yes furiously, trying his utmost to convey to the officers that I could, indeed, be of assistance.

Now it seems that someone found a necklace belonging to Babson Hurley in the Second Hand. It was a lovely, turquoise piece made by Diane Schratweiser personally. I remember when Babson got the necklace, it was at an event held by our Women's club and Diane Schratweiser had a jewelry showing there and we all fought over that particular piece. Well, naturally Babson was able to out big us all and then wore it, the necklace that is, when ever she felt like showing off. Just as well, though, it was for charity and all that. So I did indeed recognize the necklace, sitting right there in the front of the display case. Why, had I arrived before the officers I would have recognized it straight off. But apparently, Iggy Braithwaite had been in before me and alerted Captain Leighton. "Babs would never hawk her Diane Schratweiser," Iggy is supposed to have said. Which is absolutely true, but more intriguing is that Iggy Braithwaite was shopping in the Second Hand. Mind you, I'm a tremendous fan of the Second Hand, but I'm quite upfront about that, too. Iggy, on the other hand, maintains a certain air of Retail Snobbery that forbids shopping the Second Hand, and I dare say she would faint at the thought of a garage sale. Yes, the Second Hand and garage sales are Isabel and my territory. I'm sure that Isabel would have something brilliant to say about Iggy's being in the Second Hand.

But the point here is that Babson Hurley's Diane Schratweiser turquoise necklace has ended up in the Second Hand without Babson's permission. And what's more, the police were quite positive that this exact same piece is one that had been lifted by The Burglar just a few weeks ago from the Hurley's home. Well, naturally, they wanted a bit of an explanation from Mr. Heung. The officers, that is. Not the Hurleys. I did my best to convey the situation to Mr. Heung.

I pretended to crawl thru a window and tip toe through the store, pretended to look to my right and left and then nick a piece of jewelry into my bag and tip toe away. Well, Mr. Heung does do well at this and in no time he was pointing at me and shouting out, he does shout quite a bit, "Boiler! Boiler! Yes! Boiler!". I returned what I'd pretended to nick and got down to my job of translating. I picked up the necklace and pretended to enter the store and pretend to sell it to Mr. Heung. He got that pretty well and I think he understood enough to begin giving the police quite a good description of the person who sold him the necklace.

I was very impressed with Mr. Heung, but I'm quite disappointed in Captain Leighton's response. "A white male, you think, taller than five feet two inches and had some sort of hair, maybe." Captain Leighton and the other officer kept shaking their heads in that frazzled, disappointed way that Mr. Petigrew tends to do. Well, I thought that they'd made quite a bit of progress, I told them. Narrowing things down, the way they had.

"Mrs. Turnip," Captain Leighton sighed, "you've been very helpful, but since 98% of this town is white, we really haven't narrowed it down much at all". Ah but, I reminded them, only half of the town is male, so now the field has been narrowed to 48%. And with that, I once again forgot to pick out a nice set of china for Betsy and Mr. Marmalade, just so excited I was to run straight over to The Weekly.

Mr. Petigrew was absolutely astounded when I told him that I'd just assisted the police with an interrogation. "Why you?" he kept asking, scratching that shiny head of his. Well, I explained, they had no choice, "Mr. Heung doesn't speak English!". Once again, Mr. Petigrew mumbled something about how he really should have taken a look at my qualifications earlier and actually, how funny he is, said he had no idea that I speak Korean. "I don't speak Korean at all!" I laughed. Just as well, he, Mr. Petigrew that is, was able to run a nice big headline saying "Police Narrow Search for Burglar To All White Male's over 5 ft 2 inches".

Mr. Petigrew even managed some sort of smile this week when I turned in my column.

Dear Veronica,
My neighbor seems to have found my golf clubs in his house. Says he found them one morning sitting by a broken window. I absolutely had no part in leaving them there, or even taking them there in the first place. He claims he didn't take them, and went further than that by saying he wouldn't have them even as a gift.
Four

Dear Four,
People do find the oddest things in their houses, especially atics. I once found a box full of old Barbie dolls, most with their hair cut off. Anyway, I think a nice thank you note would have been more appropriate on your neighbor's part. Still, you can't very well take them back now that you've given them, despite the ungracious attitude.
Veronica

MANNERS FIRST

Well Mr. Petigrew is certainly having a tough time of it. And sometimes, you know, I think he is partly to blame for his circumstances. Afterall, not a week ago he got a call from that burglar thats been on the loose around town. Well, not that the burglar has been running loose thru people's backyards like a dog off a leash, but he is loose in the community at large. And Mr. Petigrew is very upset about this. He pounds his fist on his desk and yells at people on the phone about finding out more. Silly really. If Mr. Petigrew wants to know more about the burglar, I told him, he should just pick up a copy of the Dailey. There's an article about the burglar in every edition. And they seem to know everything, everything the police say and what was stolen and from whom. It's really a very thorough paper.

So, last week Mr. Petigrew ran a front page story in our nice Weekly calling the burglar "dangerous". Actually, the headline said "Dangerous Burglar Terrorizes Main Line". Isabel said that she wasn't terrorized. And really, I wasn't terrorized either. Charlie, that's my husband, said that we gals would only be terrorized if our daily shows were cancelled. He doesn't know a thing about what we do all day, you know. Our television shows are not very relevant to us at all. And as for the burglar, he said the same thing to Mr. Petigrew when he called. He said to Mr. Petigrew that he was absolutely not dangerous and had not terrorized anyone. And I agree. Two weeks ago I ran into Babson Hurley and she said that the burglar had broken into their home recently and taken some of her jewelry and an Ipod, I think. But what a nice man, he apparantly swept up the glass he had broken to get in and left some of her sentimental peices. Jewelry peices, that is. Babson found it all quite exciting and said the insurance man was handling everything.

I must say that I think Mr. Petigrew was wrong in making those statements about the burglar and I don't blame the man, the burglar that is, for getting upset about it. Now, I wasn't there to hear the conversation, but Sue-Nancy Quigley, Mr. Petigrew's secretary, said that Mr. Petigrew was so upset by the call that he told that Veronica girl to come back later. And that really is quite a shock, because Mr. Petigrew seems very intent on helping that young woman find a job.

Which reminds me, it seems that the young lady, Veronica that is, who interviewed for my job just before Mr. Petigrew gave it to me, just won't give up. She's round the office quite often, from what Sue-Nancy tells me. And her name actually is Veronica, which is quite convenient since the column is called "Ask Veronica". My name is Abigail, but since the column already was called "Ask Veronica" I didn't want to change an established tradition. And so, working gal that I am, I'm off to impart some more advice. (I really do think I am getting the hang of this, too)

Dear Veronica,
My friends are always fighting and I am always in the middle. I don't know who to make plans with because if I make plans with one friend, the other friend will be mad at me. I'm not trying to be rude, or act like I don't care about their feelings, but I just don't know what to do.
Stuck in the Middle

Dear Stuck,
I know just how you feel. I absolutely abhor rudeness. I have a theory that if children took classes in manners instead of gym class that we'd all be better off. There is nothing that cannot be managed when everyone is on their best behavior. And so, I agree with you that you should not be rude. Thank you for such a lovely letter and on such pretty stationary,
Veronica

QUESTIONS ABOUT A FRIEND

Dear Veronica,
I have a friend who insists on dressing her son up in velvet tuxedo's and taking him to tea. What should I do?
Worried Friend

Dear Worried Friend,
I definetly would not let your friend buy your clothes for you.
Have a Wonderful Day,
Veronica

This is such an easy job. And I think I'm doing pretty well. Just this afternoon, Mr. Petigrew exclaimed, "I can't believe you wrote this!" What a good thing for him that his wife showed up when she did. Otherwise, he was about to start giving me directions to somewhere, and he would have missed that phone call from the burglar.

I ANSWERED AN AD

Well you know how it is, looking for a job and what not. So many of these ads, now a days, demanding all sorts of high caliber skills and what not. "Must be proficient at Exel" and "Must be fluent in Word" and "Must arrive at office on time", honestly I don't see how anyone can get a job, really. There are just too many demands.

So, I was chatting with my friend, Isabel, and she said I should just go apply for a job anyway. Afterall, I'm sure most of the people applying for jobs don't really have all of these skills. I've rather always liked the idea of working for a newspaper. They always seem so smart, these newspaper people. Just thrilling, it would be, to work next to them. And just as we were finishing our coffee, wouldn't you know, but my newspaper was delivered. The weekly. It's such a nice newspaper, not all full of horrible headlines like the daily. Well, except for that particular week because there was a burglar on the loose. And thats really the ironic thing, isn't it? I mean, that the buglar was on the front page of the weekly on that day. Not litterally, mind you. And not even a pictures. But they did manage to write about him, anyway.

And that was the day that Isabel and I flipped threw to the want ads. Actually first we checked on the garage sales. After all, it was a Thursday and you have to plan ahead when you're looking for a good deal. All of the best deals are had before 9:00, you know. So, we had to look see which ones we wanted to hit. Garage sales, that is. They're on Saturday mornings, and this was Thursday so we had to look at those ads first. But then after that we checked out the job postings.

And there it was - my job. "Advice columnist wanted". Isabel quizzed me on all the things this job required: Word proficient, good with deadlines, phsychology degree - all very easy to just wing, so to speak. Isabel helped me type up a nice letter and a list of all my attributes and we put these qualifications on this list, too. And then, just on a whim, we decided to hand deliver my letter. After all, the Weekly's office was just a few blocks from my house. Though it was a lovely day and my garden was especially pretty this time of year. Spring, you know. Would have been nice to sit in the garden a bit longer but Isabel said that time and deadlines were important so off we went.

Now when we got there, it seemed that the Editor, Mr. Petigrew, had already asked another young lady to come in for the job. Or, at least the interview. Though I wouldn't have followed her fashion advice. Her skirt was just a wee bit too short, that is unless you were visiting your female doctor for a below the waste exam. And really, modesty only dictates that you cover your breasts up unless you're posing for the cover of a Harlequin novel. But anyway, she seemed like a very nice girl. Smiling and blushing. Well, at least until Mr. Petigrew's wife showed up. I never quite figured out what Mrs. Petigrew was doing at the Weekly's office that day, she doesn't work there. But she certainly does keep Mr. Petigrew ambitious about his job. She was absolutely astonished that he had yet to fill the Advice vacancy. As soon as she showed up at his office he - that is Mr. Petigrew - became quite concentrated on filling the Advice vacancy. In fact, he suddenly shooed that nice young lady out of his office , you know, the one waiting ahead of me, and suddenly pointed at me and told me to start the next day.

And you know, he didn't even read my letter.


Which brings me to my first column:

Dear Veronica,
My husband and I are having a baby and we can't decide on names. I hate the names he picks out and he hates the names that I pick out. We decided to let you decide. If it's a girl, I like Novelette and Theodora. He likes Bambi, Bunny or Peaches. If it's a boy I like Phineus. He likes Otis.
Thanx for helping out,
Diane.

Dear Diane,
How lovely that you are expecting. I do wish you and your husband, and your baby, a wonderful life together. Now, I think the problem that you are having in choosing names has a physchological background that I Excel at. Bottom line is that you both have horrible taste in names. Since you have decided that I get to decide, here is my psycologically Excel-ant decision. If a girl her name is Susan, if a boy his name is Ron.
All The Best,
Veronica