[Nervously eyes wristwatch for what must be the thirteenth time in five minutes, the hands move visibly and inexorably as the minutes tickticktick away like sand through an hourglass. Drums fingers on counter in Gene Kroupa syncopation.] Well gosh all hogwash, here I am waiting to get on a plane to balmy, sunsoaked Rio de Janeiro, and where, where, whereforartthou is that petite but presently exasperating thread goddess? I mean, I do no more than mention I'm going to Rio for meetings and she's jumping up and down, yelling mememememeeeeeee!! I can't believe she spent all that money on samba lessons and learned The Girl from Ipanema in the original Portuguese. And that hat!! Sacre Bleu!! Having Ungaro do a custom latter day Carmen Miranda special -- she spends a solid low four figgers on it and I am certain that customs will confiscate at the gate and fine me quintillions for unauthorized transport of agricultural products. After they stop laughing and taking pictures. And here I stand, head in hand, turn my face to the wall, with two first class tickets and they've even handed me the wine list and there's Dom Perignon ferchrissake and there's no penni!!!!!!!
Well...damn it, can't wait any longer...if I miss this flight, I won't be there for the friggin' meetings and I will be Alpo Pie and putting a completely new set of utter prevarications on my resume. I'll call her from the Copa Palace if I can get the phone to work. Maybe she can catch the next one...
Seriously dear penni and Rambimates, heading off to Rio and Sao Paulo tomorrow morning -- I expect to be rethreaded Friday afternoon and will regale you with middle aged Copacabana fantasies on my return. |
