Madame Feels Perky To-day
After wearing an absolutely enormous hat to a lovely wedding on a cruise ship (the sparkles! the silvery, glittery lamé! the mirrors! the fierce buffet! yay!) I decided to take a well-deserved day off. The day off, quite sadly, consisted of the following: sleeping, doodling, munching bon bons, taking my highly pierced hairdresser to lunch, looking decorative at the beach and taking a bubble bath.Not surprisingly, the Random_Speak marketing committee expressed a great deal of concern; as a result, my day off has been remixed, enhanced and digitally remastered into a much more profitable mashup that will better appeal to our target audience. You may adjust your browser settings for subtitles, "high def" resolution, and surround sound as needed.
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L's Day Off: A Blog Post
It was 11 when I awoke to the sound of my chiseled and loinclothed cabana boy, Richard Manly, discreetly carrying a silver tray loaded with heaps of berries, cream, chocolates, foie gras, tea, gourmet sausages, delicate finger sandwiches and teensy tiny bite sized salmon bits with those little caper things on top. As I languidly stirred from my down-covered hammock, I remembered where I was: the highly picturesque and mysterious seaside resort owned by a retired fellow operative, with whom I had dodged bullets and enemy agents many times in several classified locations.
But alas, I had no time to linger, so I instructed Manly to pack my picnic basket, my pink-sweatered chihuahua, an emergency book of scandalous anecdotes, a polka dot bikini and plenty of ammunition.
It was going to be a busy day.
As I manuevered my 1936 Auburn Speedster down the winding drive, I carefully avoided the hidden snipers and motion-sensitive booby (heh heh) traps in order to make my rendevouz with the dashing and handsome young cryptologist at the port de la Pointe-Croisette. As I arrived wearing my charming gingham sundress and matching hat, he gallantly offered me a glass of champagne and a dozen compliments, which (of course) is the polite thing to do. We had just managed to swap my briefcase of uncut diamonds for his portfolio of top secret nuclear plans when we were so rudely interrupted by automatic gunfire and the 75 foot yacht exploding nearby.
I would say more, but it's terribly, terribly classified. I will say, however, that the rest of the story involves heaving bosoms, high stakes gambling, underwater laser beams, hidden escape tunnels, martinis, trap doors, ardent proclamations, making out in the back seat of an autobus, secret encoded instructions, double crosses, evil henchmen with very bad manners, invisible ink, Swiss bank accounts, the CIA, the FBI, the NSA, three hand grenades and an abandoned asylum.
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argh! late for Dali Fest!
Labels: berries, cabana boy, etc., hammock, la la la la la la la
posted by L at 4:30 PM
8 Comments:
You’re okay for a dame!
I usually go hard near motion-sensitive booby traps.
dame? ha ha ha... haven't heard that one in a while. You know, I'm curious about the origin of the term "booby trap" -- it's such an odd one
Perhaps its etymology stems from a soldier too long in a foreign land.
OR
Maybe some sailors came in unison, on leave in a foreign port, after blowing their wads at Lucy Ladies Massage and Fine Lingerie Emporium, to a consensus that it was, and could only be a booby—trap. Sometimes one cannot avoid Lucy Ladies.
according to wikipedia, "The term comes from the implication such a trap will be set off by a foolish person (a booby). The first use of the term is from the 1850s, when it was used to describe practical jokes that are set off by their victim."
which, I suppose I should have guessed :)
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Yes, L, I heard you the first time. I believe you, I do.
L, my bad, you probably thought I was hard of seeing.
heh heh... no, it keeps doing that for some reason this week
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