Carrie F.

One day back in the winter of 1993-4 young Carrie F. happened to pick up a raisin that was lying unobtrusively on the classroom floor (apparently left over from some momentous experiment which had been conducted in that room, for, significantly, this was the very room occupied by the Legendary Mr. Christopherson wherein he taught the fantastic Creative Expressions class held in such high regard by so many of the world's first‑class citizens. As it happenes, young Carrie was a member of that inspired class herself). At first this quick‑minded, highly intelligent girl started to set the raisin aside, until she noticed something for the first time ever--this stupid little chunk of fruit had wrinkles! How, she wondered, was it possible that she had eaten quite a number of these things in her life, yet had never noticed the wrinkles? Raisins had always been just small chunks of food material, to be shoveled right into the mouth, chewed and swallowed along with the other odds and ends of stuff she ate every day, and had never seemed particularly deserving of close scrutiny.

But now, sensing that she was onto something of great importance, perhaps some new universal truth or perhaps some wondrous fresh in‑sight into the mysterious workings of the universe, she hastened over to the Legendary Mr. Christopherson, raisin in hand, shouting loudly, "Look here, just look what I found!" The intensity of her excitement quickly elicited the total attention of the great teacher, bringing him to pretty much full awareness from the light nap he had been enjoying, slumped across his large wooden desk (and a comfortable old desk it was too, bequeathed to the great teacher by an old friend who knew the value of a quick nap, having built into the top of the desk a small pillow of adequate size to rest one's head upon when the need arose).

The Legendary Mr. Christopherson, also sensing that something of great importance was afoot, soon found himself straining to focus in on that wrinkled little raisin which young Carrie now held in close proximity to the end of his nose. "Why, clever girl," the great teacher exclaimed, "I do believe you have a raisin there!"

"Yes, sir, I do," she answered respectfully, beginning to turn the little raisin a bit between her fingers, providing the great one with a better view of her find. "But, sir, what else do you see?"

The Legendary Mr. Christopherson frowned, realizing that this cheeky, brilliant girl was putting his perceptive and deductive powers to the test, a situation which she had a rather annoying tendency to duplicate repeatedly, coming to him, as she did, many times with all sorts of marvelous trivia. As others in the class began to gather around, knowing that yet another one of those life‑enhancing educational opportunities was about to occur, the great teacher, now fully alert, snatched up a hand lens and closely examined the raisin.

“Ah, well then, yes of course, I see,” the great man exclaimed. “You're referring to the fact that since the raisin has a bit of dirt and sand clinging to it we must deduce that it probably has recently been in some dirty, sandy area of the world, let us say Egypt, for example.”

Unawed by this incredible demonstration of logical thinking the girl answered, "Well, sir, I was actually referring to the fact that the raisin has wrinkles all over it. I think maybe the dirt and sand got there because it had been lying on the floor in here for a while.”

“M‑m‑m‑m, yes," the great teacher mumbled noncommittally. "So . . . then, you're asking me about the wrinkles, is that it? What about them?"

“It's just that I think somebody ought to do something to help these poor little things, you know, like help them get rid of the wrinkles.”

“But, Carrie, don't you see,” the great educator began (and a hush fell over the room as everyone recognized the moment of truth had arrived), “Wrinkles are a sign of age and wisdom, a series of marks indicating that their bearer ought to be respected. Why this raisin here must be quite old to be wrinkled so, and surely deserves our deepest respect!”

“Thank you so much for your insight into this matter, sir. It really helps me see this thing in a whole new light. Why, I had been thinking the raisin was wrinkled up like this because it had been out in the sun too long. This just goes to show that some of us don't know as much as we think we do, do we, sir?”

“M‑m‑m‑m,” the great teacher mumbled noncommittally.

So, that is how it all started. Ms. Carrie F. devoted the rest of her life to the proposition that wrinkles were indicators of wisdom, and that anyone wishing to appear studious and wise must have an adequate facefull. By the end of her college years she had written over seven hundred books, articles, and pamphlets extolling the virtues of wrinkles. Her cos­metic line features, along with the usual accouterments, special liners for drawing exceptionally realistic looking wrinkles. Her chain of franchised “Rinkle Ranches” have become huge money makers the world over, hiring plastic surgeons of only the highest caliber, capable of adding creases and cracks to impart the most convincing look of wisdom possible.

Recently asked to comment upon the growing success of the Carrie Cosmetic Company, the Legendary Mr. Christopherson could only say, “M‑m‑m‑m.”