She laughs at the Brita joke, pleased and grateful that he's able to move on from the note and not embarrass her making A Thing of it. "He must get it special from somewhere. I know he takes a lot of pride in showmanship, so his hair's got to be part of it."

But then he starts talking seriously about the Gallery, and she realizes that she's crossing over some strange, invisible meridian into legitimate artisanship. People have stopped patting her on the head and just saying 'that's nice, pumpkin' and are really making something of her work. Really being affected by it. And ... it terrifies her, but at the same time, who is she to hold herself back?

"No," she says, with a sudden burst of excitement that threatens to lift her off her feet. Literally. "No, I don't think there is. But where would we put it?"