I'll Take a Magnum of That

I will try now to get beyond the KiKi thing, although I still can't imagine why someone would try to hurt me like that when I never sort to keep him. All those apologies now being offered are such an empty glass of emotion.

Believe it or not, Life still went on as it was Mark's birthday and Ditmar was not about to allow the melodrama of my life to interfere with the celebration of such a dear friend. He dictated (don't Huns always do that) that we arrive at the extremely popular, Magnum restaurant. (I described this once before as it takes oh-so-much to get me to the mainland, but Magnum is worth the trip.)

I get giddy when I'm around Second French Empire decor, and I know that makes me a REAL queen. Jean Paul Sarte's "No Exit" wasn't a nightmare for me, it was a dream come true; give me velvet drapes with fringe, gold leaf, and a monkey statuette with a clock in its belly and I will roll over and purr. This is the entry way into Magnum. With its red walls and mahogany wainscoting, the main room beckons as a bordello; at any moment you feel gypsies from La Traviata will swarm out of a door and fill the room with sexual frenzy. Ditmar--ever the fashion plate--wore a red sports jacket and cap with red piping. When I remarked, "How nice of you to dress to match the room.", he replied, "Why don't you try it sometime?" To which I replied, "When they find the mauve, flocked wallpaper of my boudoir in a fabric that will translate to a bolero top, I will." Please don't try to out-bitch me.