once upon a time there was a family called whimsy. they were a most irregular bunch, being possessed of a certain delightful unpredictability which generous souls chalked up to harmless mischief, but which more suspicious minds regarded as the first signs of dangerous insanity.
there were four of them:
roberta, the eldest child, of a sunny, sweet and simple disposition, earning her the sobriquet “glad” whimsy;
marilyn, bold, elegant and daring, in matters militant and millinery, was known for her radical nature, which she, never to be out-done, chic-ly truncated to “rad” whimsy;
jami, the “bad” whimsy and middling-to-younger child, whose drier-than-usual wit and impish expressions were continually landing her in scrapes; and
jessica, the baby of the family, who, owing to the slightly maniacal way she laughed and her penchant for striped socks, was known as the “mad” whimsy.
and then there was uncle david, who had been known as such from time immemorial, even though no one remembered whose brother he had been or when. they all agreed he was certainly one of them, however, possessing as he did at least a tad of whimsy.
one afternoon, they all went on a walk in the park. many madcap adventures ensued.
(i’ll let you figure out who’s who.)