"I wouldn't worry about it," she said, "it's probably a normal feeling for most people."
"What's the day like?" I asked.
She said it was very clement or some guff like that.
"You mean the sky is blue, the sun smiling, hot and cold running water? The usual amenities?"
"Domestic offices," she suggested but for me it was another near misses and I let it go.
"Then I think I'll take myself out for an airing," I said.
"Don't forget we're meeting Tiger and Wild Bill for breakfast at 9:30."
I had forgotten all about this tryst as it came suddenly on the heels of my having to cancel a dinner engagement with these two love birds. I quickly climbed into the outer crust of the Durhamite weekender: Thai fisherman pants and Steve Miller Band tee--the 1999 Last Call tour--and the Aldo boaters, sans socks, which adds just a hint of diablerie, and I think you will agree that I need all the diablerie I can get.
Finally upholstered, I emerged and found two waiting for me on the porch attired in feminine fabric. Not the porch but the two waiting for me. Ms Wonder bunged herself into the sports model and Mom, still standing on the porch, waved us off like an Archbishop blessing the pilgrims.
I'm not much for chatting in traffic and remained strong and silent, the lips tight, the eye ever vigilant, until we were out off the Chatsford estate and sailing down the highway. Then I got down to a subject that has troubled me for some time.
"Poopsie," I said, "there is something about the pairing of these two that has troubled me for some time."
"Wild Bill and Tiger," she said, "they're a perfect couple. A match made in Heaven."
"Oh, I agree," I said. "Nice work if you want my opinion. I think they're both on to something good and should push it along with the utmost energy. Why wait until December, get married tomorrow is my suggestion. No, it's not that I object to either of them. Both are the soundest of eggs. None sounder. It's just that they both fell in love at first sight."
She said something about people who don't believe in love at first sight but it was, in my opinion, a side issue and should not divert us from the subject at hand.
I explained that I would expect nothing less of Bill. After all, strong men before him had been smitten with Jenny to an alarming degree. Wonder interrupted me to say that it probably had something to do with her profile. I agreed that it might possibly be the profile as seen from the right.
"From the left too," she said.
"Well, I suppose in a measure from the left too but you can't expect men in this hectic age to take time to dodge around a girl trying to see her from all sides."
I readily understood why Bill fell for Jenny for she is liberally supplied with oomph. He, on the other hand, a good egg, none better, but he's one of us, or that is to say, he has the face that you grow into.
"But he's no Brad Pitt," I said.
"Well," she said, "you're no Brad Pitt," as if that had anything to do with it.
Sometimes I wonder about this Poopsie, descendent of Count Alexei Orlov who helped Catherine the Great ascend to the throne. Give that one some thought and I think you will agree that there is reason for concern.
"Would I look a little like B Pitt if I had hair?"
"No."
"If I had a chin?"
"Nope."
"I suppose I must look like Beaker, the Muppet."
"Beaker had hair," she said.
"A bald Beaker," I said.
"A very cute bald Beaker," she said giving my head a nubbing.
This give and take left me feeling better about things and I would have carried on but we were nearing our destination and I was required to twiddle the wheel to avoid a passing tree and then we arrived at William's Gourmet Kitchen. We decanted ourselves and went inside to break the fast with the aforementioned friends.
I do hope this update answers all questions about the whereabouts of this post. It is here like that mountain we hear so much about. Once there was a mountain, then there was no mountain, then there was. Now there is.