Dear Portia – February 2014

Dear Portia

Advice to the Lovelorn the Overfed and the Deeply Disgruntled

 

Old-lady-on-doorstep-with-cigarPortia!  Gracious!

Look, Toots, how is it that we did not meet, if I have your bank debit card enshrined among my trophies?  You pick the fast lane, Chickie, and I’ll be there with you.   I might even return the card.

I love the contradictory quality of the “legitimate service” you offer.  Perchance your editor had other designs in hiring you, such as pushing the envelope of credulity, inciting inflamed emotions among the readership, or possibly sharing your gratuitously offensive nature with a kind and credulous public.  Rest assured that your position is secure. The human spirit has an inexhaustible urge to gawk at the aberrant, and secretly savor the salacious!

Speaking of salacious, my girlfriend, an ancient but plucky wombat, needs to know the level to which cleavage needs to be exposed in order to attract the interest of the opposite sex.  Also, should she “keep the birds in the cage” or loose the swingers for a more naturist look?  She’s had most everything reconstructed, and still no takers!  Do you ever deign to give personalized coaching?  It is entirely possible that her certificate from Floozies’ School is outdated, and that private, remedial instruction is indicated.  I cede to your insight and experience.

Expectantly awaiting our next first get together,

Devotedly, Lucretia

 

Dear Lucretia (and I use “dear” in the most obscure sense of the word),

What are we doing here, working on a jointly written novel?! I am gainfully employed and cannot be wasting my time, intellect and limited patience on people who are sorely in need of a life. Further, how dare you bring up my editor? The poor sweet man has his own personal problems but unlike some I could mention does not ever bother me with them. Indeed, once he hears that I am in the building, he quickly darts out the back door, just ahead of the publisher. As for your “wombat” friend, do you creatures travel in packs or what? So she’s had everything “re-constructed,” huh? Now I think she needs to de-construct everything but should not bother going to a cosmetic surgeon. Any carpenter could do the job with a hammer and chisel. You should think about employing him yourself—and have him start with your head.

As for meeting again(?!), it’ll have to be in the Hereafter, though I doubt we’ll both be able to make reservations in the same place.

Ojo Del Lago
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