Talking about being lost, depressed, and so feeling you want to crawl under a rock and make a nest with a nice snake, I have once again been convinced to contribute my time as a fortune teller to dogs at the Annual Dachshund Fest again. After pleading that it would only be appropriate for me to maintain a life of mourning for KiKi for one year (and then in deep purple for the next), Ruth Remington, one of the most kind people on South Beach convinced me to do it in KiKi's honor. True to form, Mr. Astor and I concocted another turban made of Versace and Hermes scarfs. (We will do it the best, or go down with the ship.)
I have no real plan set for the event; I figure that I might use the old Johnnie Carson slight of hand with the "the envelope please" at time. Fortunately, Leopoldo with be with me this year, and he always makes thing right. But don't worry....I have a secret source of "fortune juice" lined up from nearby bars.
I know KiKi will be looking up to me and saying, "Grrrrrrrrrr"