It had long been Miss Baby Coach Marie's habit to soliloquize in front of a mirror, and usually about no subject in particular. She often lost sight of herself in the mirror as she chattered on about things like thread, how many colors books come in, and whether or not electricity can truly be contained where it is supposed to be in order to maintain its harmless, yet utilitarian, relationship to those whom it is believed to serve. Typically, the closer that she approached the logical end of any such discourse, her own image would again emerge, and it was not without pleasure to herself; this pleasure, however, was without conceit. Long, thick black eyelashes and plump, rosy lips did not detract from her striped little arms and legs and the small, rotund form of her little pumpkin body: Miss Baby Coach Marie simply enjoyed a healthy and natural thrill of her own being, and was quite unconscious of the delight that many others take in miniature pumpkins of all varieties.
This fair but cloudy morning she once again nervously assessed the contents of the slim, silver valise that she had had in her possession for nearly a fortnight. No one could possibly admire the trim, tiny bottles and tubes so precisely arranged more than she: she sometimes thought that as cosmetics, the little packages themselves, in their warm, rosy colors, cuddled next to the cunning application brushes, had so adorned the interior of the valise that they should perhaps be left undisturbed and remain there always, having already done their appointed work. Reluctantly she closed the lid, snapped it shut, and returned to the mirror.
"Good Morning! I am Miss Baby Coach Marie, and I am here, at your very door, to introduce you to the world of colour, that for no good reason, you may have previously been denied..."

The fog gradually vanished and the sun, in victory, spread itself ever so more graciously. Its reflection hit Miss Baby Coach Marie from her mirror, making her squint, and then the allure of the promised, warm light, infusing her warm orange skin with the glow of life itself, reminded her that she was also alive and she quickly donned her little blue shoes. She hopped across the threshold, and skipped down the stairs, swinging the valise to balance both her mood and her gait. She had decided, quite gaily, to simply roll down the brick stoop to the street when she opened the front door and beheld a large white cat, basking in the sun.