Advice to the Lovelorn the Overfed and the Deeply Disgruntled
Dearest (May I be so bold?) Portia,
Greetings from Guad! Our breakfast rendezvous is bathed in a euphoric fog. Who knew shots and beer could make an early morning rendezvous so unforgettable, yet un-remember- able? Bathed in the haze of your cigar smoke, day became night, stars appeared, and the bass darkness of your spirit reverberated in my soul; that, and my worst hangover ever, rivaled only by a 15-day migraine after my third divorce. I recall very little of our meeting, and wonder if you have any recollections, fond, foul or otherwise, that you might share.
In your note to me you suggested that I be at the top of my game. I was, at least for the first 12 minutes. As the alcohol infused my brain, I became aware of your own peculiar “gaminess” and now seek to offer you a plethora of sartorial and personal care suggestions. Your tennis shoes are both comfy and hackneyed, but I suggest that you search for something with metal spikes, and lots of straps. It would be so YOU! Though alcohol and cigars are excellent, their olfactory impact is both awful and offal! That said, it is arresting, and may well be your trade mark. Let’s plan to meet out-doors next time, and I’ll sit up wind.
Warmest (if not torrid) Regards,
I have no idea of what you’re talking about, and cannot recall ever having even met you! Further, I resent your comments about my sartorial style and taste in cigars. You sound like any one of my five ex-husbands, three of which died under mysterious circumstances. Get my drift? I am trying hard to provide a legitimate service to my readers, and it is comments like yours that darken my already ruined reputation and now threaten my very livelihood. Already, my publisher has become so shaken by the irate readers of my column who storm into the Ojo at least twice a week that he has resorted to arriving at the office in disguise. If I ever agree to actually meet you, it will be only if you’re waiting for me while standing in the fast lane of the Chapala/Guadalajara highway! I’m not exactly a doll that likes getting dissed around, get it, sister!
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