Blackberries

Belle and I accepted a tub of freshly picked blackberries from a family who'd gone blackberry picking in the field near the food bank.  The blackberries were sweeter than those growing in our backyard and in our park.  Belle ate blackberries while secured onto my back in the Ergo, while wiping her purple fingers on my coat.  When I let her out of the Ergo to eat more comfortably, Belle threw blackberries at me and at the feet of a woman I'd been talking with.  I had to fasten her back into the Ergo and accept myself with large, visible stains on my clothes.  We'd been given blackberries in a thirty-two ounce yogurt container without a lid and had plenty of leftovers.  We came home and ate those while picking more blackberries from our yard.  Then Belle started squeezing them and rubbing them onto her face and into her clothes.  She looked like Carrie by the end of it.