I wonder how poor addled grasswipe Judy Smith hoards. She's homeless, squatting in an abandoned bodega up there in the edge of Portland, Oregon.
She totters up and down the sidewalks, bundled in multiple overcoats summer and winter, tugging a little red wagon heaped with treasures she finds in the devil strip on trash pickup days. She also collects hair clippings in little medicine bottles.
Now in her early 70s, she still mutters about the pie shop that never was, her fantasy from nearly three years ago.
http://www.oregonlive.com/milwaukie/index.ssf/2011/03/pieandjam_shop_to_open_along_the_trolley_trail_aid_local_music_programs.htmlAs comically addled as she is, she tries mightily to sound normal, clued-in, authoritative, resulting in hilarity that embarrasses her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, and great-great-great grandchildren. (The Smith clan breeds like fruit flies.)
All that makes her a great candidate for the Rob McGrath Award.