My Ideal Person:
Her heavy cotton garb clung to her shoulders with sweat, and soil burrowed deep under the nails of her thick fingers. She glowed with pride, thinking how quickly she left her old hands behind. “Perhaps I left them with my needlework and tea,” She whispered, resting her weight on her hoe, and smiled at the sunset.
“Its not proper for a lady to be seen in such a condition!” Her father said. “How will you find a husband?” Her mother scolded.
“The children will not go hungry for lack of, of needlework.” She sighed. “What good is a husband if I have lost myself?” She wondered.