05 May 2008

I met her in May. By the elevators at Saks. Well, not really, but for all intents and purposes, that is where it all started. I was a bit delayed talking to the dame behind the Penhaligon's counter.

She was asking me about variable annuities and "Savings Incentive Match Plan For Employees Of Small Employers" but it was well past five PM on my Swiss Made and so I played dumb. Told her I was just a clerk who ran the Rexograph. She smiled, somewhat knowingly.

She herself was beginning to turn blue by the time she'd bored me white so much so that I plum forgot to ask for the Blenheim Bouquet talc I so desperately wanted. I knew I was off to the Commonwealth that weekend for a little of the old tit-for-tat bat-and-ball with King Mswati's nephew. He'd beaten me quite ravishingly last May in Swaziland but now we'd be on 'neutral turf' as they say.

I was boning up on my Westminster system on the flight over and that is when I met her. She was eating apple seeds. I turned to her and asked "O heavens, why!?" she said she'd wanted to know the taste of cyanide. "Fair enough", I said, "Are you afraid someone is going to try and kill you, my dear?"

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