Saturday, August 23, 2008

Let them Eat Cake

Back in the Paleozoic era about fifteen years ago, I was popular with the Ladies who Lunch. The ones who live in Peapack, eat tiny sandwiches and complain about the help. They would hire me to design their party invitations, personal stationary, and campaign materials for an occasional kid's student council run.

Newsflash, and you might want to jot this down: if you want to kick some major high school ass, get your mommy to hire a professional advertising agency to lock down your run for class president. I am proud to say our candidates never lost an election.

My assistant Dmitri drove down to Mary's place. Possibly, he needed to drop off press proofs for our crushingly successful "Vote chRis" campaign. The first time I had gone down there myself, I met Mary's houseboy who twittered on endlessly about the terrible ordeal of finding ribbon to match Mary's satin pumps.

It was a fine spring day. Dmitri drove through the service gates and somehow took a wrong turn on one of the roads leading up to the main house. Luckily he saw Mary motoring across the property in a golf cart. She gave him directions. He asked her where she was headed in the golf cart. She said, "What's the point of having a pool if you're all sweaty by the time you get back to the house."

Yes, exactly.


Luckily for my soul I found other ways to make a living.

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