This is a waste of time, Innocence thought, and pitched the urn, the bicycle, and herself cheerfully into the abyss. Only her mother and the tabloids noticed.
Cecily's grandmother told her every morning to Beware of This and That, and Cecily had almost stopped noticing. Her mother often said things like "Watch out for boys with shiny shoes, " and "Look both ways seven times before crossing the street" and "Don't marry a man who smiles a lot," which were tiresome to hear while also eating a bowl of lumpy oatmeal without sugar because Cecily's mother also said "Eating sugar will make your children simple." But these warnings at least gave Cecily something to watch for. She could always cross the road, dizzy but unharmed, should a smiling man with patent leather shoes approach her, but how in the world could she be expected to Beware of This and That?
Cecily's grandmother thought Cecily's mother was dull-witted. Cecily wondered if sugar was to blame. Cecily's mother did lack imagination, she thought, but probably just didn't want her daughter to slip into the Abyss of Indiscretion, as she herself had done when a smiling man with shiny shoes hit her with his horse. Cecily's grandmother had been rather relieved at the time, having suffered great pangs of guilt for naming her daughter Innocence. Unluckily, Innocence had rummaged around in the Abyss, found the cracked Urn of her Reputation, and the crumpled frame of her Bicycle of Propriety and had resumed her ride with squeaky fervor. Only this time it was worse, because now she was wearing the Galoshes of Remorse. Cecily's grandmother knew the dangers of too many warnings.
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