The long climb back to health hasn't been easy. If I were to listen to That Pimpernel, I was the victim of another act of foul play; a certain Russian manicurist comes to mind. I made a surprise visit to Court last night after a long nap and found Captain Jeremy standing in the middle of my ballroom, standing on the sacred carpet, and just entertaining the dickens out of the a bunch of girls from New England and a bunch of boys from various South American countries. I glided up unnoticed and said,"Well, look whose taken over and my body isn't even cold." His scream must have been heard in Bogota, but we were happy to be together again; his training has taken him away and he leaves us again soon for Columbia. (And with Riley having escaped to Spain to avoid the inquisition of the pool party scandal, I am going to be very alone.)
And I have to revise my edict. Despite my pointedly asking my adored Ray if his birthday was this Sunday (I have to make a cake of spectacular significance), it is really NEXT Sunday, March 18. If there was EVER a blond trapped in a brunette's body, it exists right there with Ray. All the better, really, for planning's sake.
No other news to report as I have been taken to my bed with this cold. I receive notes from members of Court, listen to the latest gossip, have my food delivered in hermetically sealed containers, and sleep with my jewel box under my twelve pillows. One visitor actually had the nerve to say that so many pillows opened up the door for a Tiberius-style smothering. I replied that Tiberius didn't have a pearl-handled pistol back then and the shrew backed off. Treachery abounds.
posted by Alexis du Bois @ 12:01 AM
6 Comments:
Always watch your back, my dear Mrs. Astor....even while reclining on twelve pillows (a little excessive even for moi!).
I need to send something my little RayRay's birthday. I adore him!
Actually, I'm glad he was a little scatter-brained. I need one more week to pull off something very speccial for RayRay.
I am still adjusting to Ray being a bartender -- let alone a star bartender. I get very dizzy trying to stay on this merry-go-round.
Hopefully Jeremy's orders will hold off for a bit and I can buy him a farewell bottle of Ketel 1.
It is difficult imagining that petite, little Kah-Ween bartending, but sometimes you get thrust into a situation and come out of it a star. Good for him, and don't think for a second that The Wire naming him one of the six most sexy bartenders didn't ruffle feathers around here. It was like an Austrian/Argentine henhouse for a few days.
BUT: if there was a Tiberius-style takeover of Machiavellian proportions, at least you would have minnows (of course some brown boy: Cuban, latino, Ecuadorian, etc) to nip at your body while swimming. Tell me seriously you haven't considered it. Love.
"considered it", Ed, I've promoted it. That's why the sudden, sex pool party while I was dreaming of salmon swimming up stream upsets me so.
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