Fed Up

Why, oh why can't I just deal with decent, beautiful people like Edison, CJ, Scottie, and Martin? It seems the moment I leave The Palace my sensibilities are assaulted. By whom? The peasants, of course. They are always revolting.

I was making my way across Lincoln Road home last night and a gnarly woman asked if I could help her with bus fare; I must have been weak, because I reached in my pearled purse and pulled out a dollar to give her. But, no, she needed $3.50 to take the bus to Palm Beach. Palm Beach!

This is where my stockings were soiled because I had to thrash her with my walking stick. I am so sick of the "I must get back to Palm Beach" story. One, they don't allow peasants on Palm Beach, and, Two, why not just say "I need $22.50 to get to my trailer park in Volusia Springs."

I had a lovely chat with The 7th last night. The main topic of conversation was How Do We Slaughter More Peasants and New Hats. The first item in on their shoulders; I refuse to soil any more stockings. The second item on the agenda on up to me. I strongly suggested the adapting of the Italian Fascist Calvary hats with the black ostrich feathers. Truthfully, who wasn't in awe of The Italian Calvary? Fashionably daring and so practical. The 7th adored the idea and I will donate another strand of pearls to the effort.

Someone has to stand up for order.