I found it on Cyprus

Brian was always best in our souvenir contest. When he got malaria somewhere and threw his arms in the air, I said “Unfair! Must be a purchased doodad.” With his eye for bad, he found San Fran fog in a can and a chip-dip dish featuring the bugs of Oz.

Then I spied a pink shell in a shop. Ancient like Cyprus, sharp little horns on top. But oh the indignity done: red plastic berries, green sprigs, a loop of frilly lace had been glued on. Snatched from the sea: doomed to hang on a Christmas tree.

Winner, winner! Brian bought me a steak dinner.

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