He took them to the store the first morning, showed them what he’d wrought with his own two hands. Thought that he’d inspire them to see what they could do when they entered the world as well, after they’d gone home and grown up a little. Which they would have to do very soon, as he reminded them at every chance, unmoved by George’s hangdog expression at the thought.
They’d walked around the shop slowly, picking things up, turning them over, having hilarious, embarrassing conversations about the likely purpose of an old Soloflex machine, a grubby pink Epilady leg razor, a Bakelite coffee carafe.
The arguments went like this:
George: Look, it’s a milk container!
Ed: I don’t think that that’s for milk.
Fred: You should put it down before you drop it, it looks valuable.
George: Why don’t you think it’s for milk? Look at the silver inside, that’s to reflect off the white milk and make it look, you know, cold and fresh.
Fred: Put it down, you’re going to break it.
George: Fine, I’ll put it down, but tell me, why don’t you think it’s for milk?
Ed: Because it’s a thermos container, and that’s to keep hot stuff hot, and it’s got a screwtop and whatever it’s made of looks like it’d take a hard knock without breaking.