Dreamland

Stained Glass Clocks

I'm at a gallery, they are having an exclusive showing of works by a famous artist. Everyone else in attendance is obviously of a much higher financial class then I am, but it doesn't bother me. I am looking at a display of several recessed stained glass windows with built in china clocks, something this artist is famous for. These works are for sale, so I turn over the price tag on one that I particularly like. It's $34,500.

The man next to me, expecting me to be intimidated by the price, comments: "A very impressive piece, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, I just love his work," I reply, nonchalantly. "I already have one of his clock windows in my home."

I do not tell the man the reason I have the clock window is because I bought an old cottage where the artist used to live. He left the window behind when he moved, before he was famous.

There is a putting green next to the gallery, so I go outside to practice. I'm doing very well, sinking ten and fifteen footers without any trouble. The man from the gallery is also there, but not doing as well as I am. "Would you care for a match, to wager a little on our shots?" he asks.

I agree, twenty-five putts for twenty dollars a putt.

"If you don't mind, instead of these range balls I'd rather we used mine, if that's acceptable?" he asks.

I agree. He pulls these lopsided egg-shaped golf balls nearly the size of tennis balls out of his golf bag. He is able to hit them perfectly, but I have no luck at all with them. I lose all of my money to him.