Mr. Petigrew had recently developed an odd habit of leaving the office to pace the sidewalk up and down West Avenue. He checks his reflection in the windows of shops and then darts quickly by others. Maybe he has more time now that he's not trying to find that Veronica girl a job. Wonderful really, because I think the exercise might do him a bit of good. And Veronica just seems to love her new job with Mr. Heung. But the pacing has become a bit much. If he just walked leisurely I don't think he'd call quite as much attention to himself. He has also been seen to spray some sort of aerosol on his scalp quite frequently. Sue-Nancy Quigly, Mr. Petigrew's secretary, told me that he, that is Mr. Petigrew, that he has also taken to asking her if she has noticed he had a bit more hair on his dome. She had not, and quite frankly neither did I. He remained as shiny on the top as the day I first met him. And a good thing, too, for he was also growing accustomed to saying how much he'd like to pull his own hair out. Very odd, indeed, to hope so much to grow some just so one could pull it all out again. Men can truly be difficult to understand, at times, as Isabel says "they are victims of their own desires". Now I'm not entirely certain how this pertains to Mr. Petigrew's lack of scalp follicles, but I do know that he has also become quite uncomfortable with the visits from Captain Leighton as well as Eliahas Wayne's insurance man, Mr. Kuflic. Something to do with the in's and outs of his advertising and all to do with catching The Burglar.
You see, it all has to do with my column and the letter I received from The Burglar. I was once again credited with an idea that Mr. Petigrew called a "doosy" that he just "couldn't believe". He really is quite a down to earth type fellow, always wondering what he has done to deserve all of this. And he is such a devoted newspaper man, I believe it absolutely is about time he get all of this recognition. Now when I first met Mr. Petigrew, he was dedicated to the entire Burglar issue, and now with a bit of help from me he is smack dab in the middle of it. Or, as The Daily said in a headline, "In With The Burglar". (Most unflattering picture of Mr. Petigrew that The Daily chose to run). But the point here is that I decided to ask Mr. Burglar, up front and all that, not to rummage through my home and snatch poor Lolly's tailgate hat until after the Races. And though a few of the Ladies at my Women's club called my letter 'silly', 'daft' and a few other things, apparently I'm not the only one. That is, not the only one that took to making my requests to Mr. Burglar in print. You see, I believe The Burglar to be a gentleman, and a gentleman never denies a polite request. It's become quite obvious that the man does like hats, and why wouldn't he want a hat like Lolly Desjardin's?
But the point here is that, apparently, after reading my latest column, several others decided to take out space in The Weekly with similar requests. Babson Hurley was the first. Her advertisement read: Dear Mr. Burglar, You've already been to 105 Wooded Lane. While we appreciate your courtesy and thoughtfulness in cleaning up any mess you may have caused, we do request that you not visit again unless formally invited.
Betsy Perkins ran an even nicer advertisement, saying: Dear Burglar, If you are the person responsible for bringing my cat to me, thank you ever so much. He is the best cat in the whole entire world. My husband may not think this cat is worth the golf clubs of his that you took, but I do. And, my husband did get his clubs back. We don't have much else for you, other than some coins that my husband collects which you missed. They are in the second floor study.
Victor McWoogle took out a very funny spot, saying : Alright now Burglar Man, haven't had the pleasure yet, despite all the good stuff in our house. Still, our neighbors at 114 Overlook have absolutely fabulous stuff and they are heavy sleepers.
At last count, according to Sue-Nancy Quigley, Mr. Petigrew's secretary, The Weekly had received ten advertisements and placed all of them in the front section of the paper. Now, according to Sue-Nancy, who to me seems to be a rather in-the-know type, newspapers are very keen on their advertisements. All has to do with profits, and what not. So you see, this trend I started was obviously pleasing Mr. Petigrew to the point where he believed he could actually wish for more hair. Really, any hair would be more hair for the dear man.
And the truly odd thing about this whole letter writing bit is that the police, as well as that nasty little insurance man, Mr. Kuflic, had completely forgotten about The Second Hand and were concentrating themselves on this belief that Mr. Petigrew had an "in" with The Burglar. It must be nice to realize one's dreams, as Mr. Petigrew was now doing. Although, I thought that Veronica girl was a bit cross when she said gagging is what he, Mr. Petigrew that is, that gagging is what he gets. You see, as we were buying up some more suspicious items at The Second Hand, I told her about how the police were ordering Mr. Petigrew to gag. Very archaic, I believe, and I told the man from The Daily just that when he came round to speak with me about it. I said to him, 'one does not order one to gag, and the police should stop concentrating so much on who writes who a letter and should really concentrate more on finding out who lifted the hood ornaments off of half a dozen Mercedes parked along Louella Court last week.'
But the point here really is the letter that I received from The Burglar that started all of this excitement.
Dear Veronica,
I wouldn't think of burgling your home. You've been quite kind and fair to me, I believe. I think that you're advice is very good advice and more people should read your column. They should also stop by and visit your garden, it's one of the nicest in the neighborhood. And while there, maybe think about adopting one of the stray cats you've been so good about caring for.
Best Regards,
T.B.
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
In The Knick of Time
Now the thing about hats is that you've got to walk a rather thin line with them. What looks positively fabulous on one head can be an absolute disaster on another head. I think that's what happened to me last year. The tailgates, you know, Most Beautiful Hat. I thought my hat was so terribly smart, and special, too. I'd jazzed it up and glued little plastic horses to the rim and stuck some hey to it. Really got into the whole horsey theme. I must say it gave quite a laugh to some of the other ladies at the races. Very unbecoming of them to behave in such a manner. Ah, but this is a new year and a new tailgate, but oh what drama. I really don't think I can remember a year when the drama was so high. Why, the entire idea of Constance Cortnoy's massive tailgate is becoming almost a put off. Or is that a down turn? Isabel really has the most experienced way with words, you know, but I don't always remember the exact sequence with which she uses them. She's really got quite a knack with them, words that is. Why, if you could have a job just saying fabulous words, well Isabel would have quite the career I dare say. Although they really don't make jobs like that, now do they?
But the point here is that Constance Cortnoy has done something about a Monkey's wrench and it's just wreaking havoc on us all. Several of us, myself included, are deeply convinced that this bountiful tailgate she's hosting at the Malvern Races is a devious attempt to sway the judges and win the Most Beautiful Hat competition. There are a few other theories which I don't necessarily subscribe to, although I am tempted as Isabel subscribes to one of them. Theories, that is. And you know, I do think brains were born inside of Isabel. Anyway, Isabel believes that Constance is attempting some sort of statement. Thinks it goes all the way back to college. Well, preposterous, I say. At least I would say that until, as I've said, I discovered that Isabel felt strongly about this particular theory. I supposed it could be a bit of both, you know, hats and statements. Although really, college. Isn't that odd. What's there to make a statement about, after all. We went, she went, she met Conroy, and thankfully her mother insisted that the sorority accept her, and the same women that she is friends with today let her follow them around back then, too. No idea really what the problem could be. But Isabel thinks something to do with always coming in second. Well, if you ask me, second is much better than third.
But on this particular day, Constance Cortnoy or not, I was dedicating my afternoon to completing my hat. Well, that and having a look round Mr. Heung's shop for items that may have found their way into the shop without the owners full knowledge. Obviously, these tasks blended quite well together, as Mr. Heung has been helping me to create my hat. Yes, it is true that after last year's hat seemed to have bombed so fiercely, I had originally decided to go with the tried and true a just buy a hat from Lindsay's. But then I found that absolutely glorious hat in The Second Hand and Mr. Heung suggested I adorn it with tails. You know, tailgate party, why not a hat with tails. Not real tails, mind you, that would be positively ghastly And besides, where would I get them? The tails, that is.
But the point here is not really about my hat, but the other task, the investigative journalism I'd been assigned by Babson. And you know, I realized just a few days ago, that other than the normal, routine town gossip, I had very little knowledge of what actually had been lifted by this Burglar. You know how it is, most of the talk is all the excitement of who's house has 'been hit' and who's been overlooked. Dreadfully embarrassing it is, you can imagine, after awhile not to have been one of the home's that have 'been hit'.
Now I can see why the Dustin's home was skipped, so to speak. Lovely people they are, the Dustin's. And chalk full of good stuff in their house, too, mind you. But don't you see, it's their dog, Jack Daniels. He's a lovely dog, but oh what a barker. The Beasley's house was 'hit', don't you love that word? But the Beasley's poor old dog, Bailey, really is getting on in years and I don't think he can hear much, let alone do much barking. I should think that would make the Beasley's house a rather safe bet, and apparently The Burglar felt so, too.
So off I went, just a few days ago, to visit some of the chosen homes. You know, get their spoon full. Betsy Perkins, of course, had already told me what had been lifted; that emerald cocktail ring of hers and Ned's golf clubs. Funny thing about golf clubs, though. He got them back. They ended up in Archie Archibald's study, of all odd places. Archie doesn't even play golf. Betsy says that the police think The Burglar hit two homes that night, hers and the Archibald's. Must have been too heavy, the clubs, for the poor man to carry so he ended up leaving them in Archie's study. Whats more, according to Betsy, Ned and Archie had quite a rowe over the whole thing. Still aren't really speaking to each other. Well, Betsy says, she's quite glad that The Burglar left her a cat and not a set of golf clubs, because she doesn't play golf, either. Not that she would trade with the Archibald's. After all, Betsy and her cat, Mr. Marmalade, have become quite inseparable, you know.
I asked Betsy if she knew what the Archibald's were missing, and she said "Oh well, you know, they don't really have much of anything worth nicking. But they did apparently find themselves quite light in the silver wear cabinet", as well as something else called a GPS and a Digital something or other. Well, I'd have a very difficult time looking for those things, the GPS and the Digital, at The Second Hand. I've absolutely no idea what they are and wouldn't even know how to begin to act them out to Mr. Heung. Now the silver wear, on the other hand, I could spot. Reed and Barton apparently. Very respectable taste. I made a mental note.
I then visited the Beasley's, the Hamilton's, the Wayne's and the Bandywiths and came up with the following mental notes: lots and lots of Reed and Barton silver wear, two hats intended for the Malvern Races tailgate parties, a few other things with cords and batteries that I'd never recognize in a million years, one priceless pearl necklace and one not so priceless pearl necklace, a diamond tennis bracelet that popped up at a neighbors home, another emerald cocktail ring, a Sapphire brooch, a Sapphire necklace, eight pairs of diamond earrings, and an autographed photograph of Tiger Woods. I don't mind telling you that by the third day I was positively exhausted. Whats more, I realized that I'd need more than three days to wrap this investigative journalism up.
And I'll tell you what, this man, The Burglar, quite a good man, he is. The Beasley's said that the man, The Burglar, walked old Bailey for them. They knew this because the old boy was positively walked out in the morning and both his leash and pick-up bags were left in the wrong spots. Anyone who cares for pets is a darn decent sort in my book. Elizabeth Beasley agreed and said she's anxious to meet the man and say hello.
Now the Brandywith's had an even more fascinating story. Seems they've got a table in their study, quite an nice one, too as I recall. Anyway, this table has been in Edith Brandywith's family for generations. You see, she is Edith Browne Brandywith and the table is quite priceless, as well as sentimental. Well the leg on the left has been quite loose and giving them a problem, almost broken off. Well that nice man, The Burglar, took to fixing it for them. Actually came back a second night to finish the job. Of course, he did lift a Sapphire brooch and pair of diamond earrings and some other things, too. But really, what dedication to a job. They're positively besides themselves and Jack says he'd like to share a martini with Mr. Burglar, as he calls him. Actually, Jack swears that The Burglar must be a Sigma Nu, just like Jack. Says only a Sigma Nu knows how to get the job done.
Susan Meale Hamilton spent most of the time complaining about how her tailgate hat had been taken and she was convince that a conspiracy was in play. Well, you can imagine how I had to bite my lip. Susan Meale Hamilton has, even on a good year, even less of a chance of winning the Most Beautiful Hat competition than I do. I at least put some effort into the adventure, while Susan Meale Hamilton' efforts center on the television remote and a box of chocolates. Bug Hamilton did add that despite the few missing bits of jewelry, The Burglar did defrost their freezer for them, and he was quite thankful.
Now Eliahas and Katerina Wayne felt very uncomfortable discussing the entire being 'hit' affair. Well, Eliahas harrumphed "not the sort of thing one brags about, now is it. Just life, it is. Wouldn't have even made that police report if it wasn't for that", well, I'll leave some of his words out, but he was referring to his insurance man. Eliahas and Katerina are notoriously, um, toned down. A bit sparse in the finer things, if you know what I mean. Eliahas doesn't believe in excess anything, other than his three classic cars and quite a bit of stock, from what I understand. Anyway, point is that Katerina has never sported much jewelry, even at black tie events. Mostly, of course, because she doesn't have any jewelry. It's Eliahas, you see. Doesn't believe in that, too frivolous. And dear sweet Katerina never complains. But before I went off on my way, she darted down the drive after me and, checking first to see that Eliahas wasn't watching, pulled a most gorgeous diamond tennis bracelet from her pocket. "A gift," she whispered in the breathless voice of hers, "from that charming burglar". I was so happy for her. No one deserves a diamond tennis bracelet more than Katerina.
"You know what, Abigail?" she confided, "I find him a fascinating individual and I hope he never gets caught."
And I absolutely agreed.
That night, sitting on our porch as we do, well at least when it's warm out and last night was a lovely evening. Anyway, I said to Charlie, "why do you think we've been skipped? We've got quite a bit of shiny, sparkly things." But Charlie just smiled and said that maybe it had something to do with me being in the newspaper business, and such.
Dear Veronica,
Ever since I had my third child and became addicted to Reese's Pieces and Gummy Bears, I've put on weight. I just can't seem to take it off. People keep telling me that I should eat less and exercise more, but I"m running all the time. And the Gummy Bears give me energy. I don't think I"ll ever be a perfect size 8 again, what should I do?
Sized Out
Dear Size,
I think that you should shop at The Second Hand over on West Avenue. There's a size 8 dress there for everyone, I guarantee.
Veronica
But the point here is that Constance Cortnoy has done something about a Monkey's wrench and it's just wreaking havoc on us all. Several of us, myself included, are deeply convinced that this bountiful tailgate she's hosting at the Malvern Races is a devious attempt to sway the judges and win the Most Beautiful Hat competition. There are a few other theories which I don't necessarily subscribe to, although I am tempted as Isabel subscribes to one of them. Theories, that is. And you know, I do think brains were born inside of Isabel. Anyway, Isabel believes that Constance is attempting some sort of statement. Thinks it goes all the way back to college. Well, preposterous, I say. At least I would say that until, as I've said, I discovered that Isabel felt strongly about this particular theory. I supposed it could be a bit of both, you know, hats and statements. Although really, college. Isn't that odd. What's there to make a statement about, after all. We went, she went, she met Conroy, and thankfully her mother insisted that the sorority accept her, and the same women that she is friends with today let her follow them around back then, too. No idea really what the problem could be. But Isabel thinks something to do with always coming in second. Well, if you ask me, second is much better than third.
But on this particular day, Constance Cortnoy or not, I was dedicating my afternoon to completing my hat. Well, that and having a look round Mr. Heung's shop for items that may have found their way into the shop without the owners full knowledge. Obviously, these tasks blended quite well together, as Mr. Heung has been helping me to create my hat. Yes, it is true that after last year's hat seemed to have bombed so fiercely, I had originally decided to go with the tried and true a just buy a hat from Lindsay's. But then I found that absolutely glorious hat in The Second Hand and Mr. Heung suggested I adorn it with tails. You know, tailgate party, why not a hat with tails. Not real tails, mind you, that would be positively ghastly And besides, where would I get them? The tails, that is.
But the point here is not really about my hat, but the other task, the investigative journalism I'd been assigned by Babson. And you know, I realized just a few days ago, that other than the normal, routine town gossip, I had very little knowledge of what actually had been lifted by this Burglar. You know how it is, most of the talk is all the excitement of who's house has 'been hit' and who's been overlooked. Dreadfully embarrassing it is, you can imagine, after awhile not to have been one of the home's that have 'been hit'.
Now I can see why the Dustin's home was skipped, so to speak. Lovely people they are, the Dustin's. And chalk full of good stuff in their house, too, mind you. But don't you see, it's their dog, Jack Daniels. He's a lovely dog, but oh what a barker. The Beasley's house was 'hit', don't you love that word? But the Beasley's poor old dog, Bailey, really is getting on in years and I don't think he can hear much, let alone do much barking. I should think that would make the Beasley's house a rather safe bet, and apparently The Burglar felt so, too.
So off I went, just a few days ago, to visit some of the chosen homes. You know, get their spoon full. Betsy Perkins, of course, had already told me what had been lifted; that emerald cocktail ring of hers and Ned's golf clubs. Funny thing about golf clubs, though. He got them back. They ended up in Archie Archibald's study, of all odd places. Archie doesn't even play golf. Betsy says that the police think The Burglar hit two homes that night, hers and the Archibald's. Must have been too heavy, the clubs, for the poor man to carry so he ended up leaving them in Archie's study. Whats more, according to Betsy, Ned and Archie had quite a rowe over the whole thing. Still aren't really speaking to each other. Well, Betsy says, she's quite glad that The Burglar left her a cat and not a set of golf clubs, because she doesn't play golf, either. Not that she would trade with the Archibald's. After all, Betsy and her cat, Mr. Marmalade, have become quite inseparable, you know.
I asked Betsy if she knew what the Archibald's were missing, and she said "Oh well, you know, they don't really have much of anything worth nicking. But they did apparently find themselves quite light in the silver wear cabinet", as well as something else called a GPS and a Digital something or other. Well, I'd have a very difficult time looking for those things, the GPS and the Digital, at The Second Hand. I've absolutely no idea what they are and wouldn't even know how to begin to act them out to Mr. Heung. Now the silver wear, on the other hand, I could spot. Reed and Barton apparently. Very respectable taste. I made a mental note.
I then visited the Beasley's, the Hamilton's, the Wayne's and the Bandywiths and came up with the following mental notes: lots and lots of Reed and Barton silver wear, two hats intended for the Malvern Races tailgate parties, a few other things with cords and batteries that I'd never recognize in a million years, one priceless pearl necklace and one not so priceless pearl necklace, a diamond tennis bracelet that popped up at a neighbors home, another emerald cocktail ring, a Sapphire brooch, a Sapphire necklace, eight pairs of diamond earrings, and an autographed photograph of Tiger Woods. I don't mind telling you that by the third day I was positively exhausted. Whats more, I realized that I'd need more than three days to wrap this investigative journalism up.
And I'll tell you what, this man, The Burglar, quite a good man, he is. The Beasley's said that the man, The Burglar, walked old Bailey for them. They knew this because the old boy was positively walked out in the morning and both his leash and pick-up bags were left in the wrong spots. Anyone who cares for pets is a darn decent sort in my book. Elizabeth Beasley agreed and said she's anxious to meet the man and say hello.
Now the Brandywith's had an even more fascinating story. Seems they've got a table in their study, quite an nice one, too as I recall. Anyway, this table has been in Edith Brandywith's family for generations. You see, she is Edith Browne Brandywith and the table is quite priceless, as well as sentimental. Well the leg on the left has been quite loose and giving them a problem, almost broken off. Well that nice man, The Burglar, took to fixing it for them. Actually came back a second night to finish the job. Of course, he did lift a Sapphire brooch and pair of diamond earrings and some other things, too. But really, what dedication to a job. They're positively besides themselves and Jack says he'd like to share a martini with Mr. Burglar, as he calls him. Actually, Jack swears that The Burglar must be a Sigma Nu, just like Jack. Says only a Sigma Nu knows how to get the job done.
Susan Meale Hamilton spent most of the time complaining about how her tailgate hat had been taken and she was convince that a conspiracy was in play. Well, you can imagine how I had to bite my lip. Susan Meale Hamilton has, even on a good year, even less of a chance of winning the Most Beautiful Hat competition than I do. I at least put some effort into the adventure, while Susan Meale Hamilton' efforts center on the television remote and a box of chocolates. Bug Hamilton did add that despite the few missing bits of jewelry, The Burglar did defrost their freezer for them, and he was quite thankful.
Now Eliahas and Katerina Wayne felt very uncomfortable discussing the entire being 'hit' affair. Well, Eliahas harrumphed "not the sort of thing one brags about, now is it. Just life, it is. Wouldn't have even made that police report if it wasn't for that", well, I'll leave some of his words out, but he was referring to his insurance man. Eliahas and Katerina are notoriously, um, toned down. A bit sparse in the finer things, if you know what I mean. Eliahas doesn't believe in excess anything, other than his three classic cars and quite a bit of stock, from what I understand. Anyway, point is that Katerina has never sported much jewelry, even at black tie events. Mostly, of course, because she doesn't have any jewelry. It's Eliahas, you see. Doesn't believe in that, too frivolous. And dear sweet Katerina never complains. But before I went off on my way, she darted down the drive after me and, checking first to see that Eliahas wasn't watching, pulled a most gorgeous diamond tennis bracelet from her pocket. "A gift," she whispered in the breathless voice of hers, "from that charming burglar". I was so happy for her. No one deserves a diamond tennis bracelet more than Katerina.
"You know what, Abigail?" she confided, "I find him a fascinating individual and I hope he never gets caught."
And I absolutely agreed.
That night, sitting on our porch as we do, well at least when it's warm out and last night was a lovely evening. Anyway, I said to Charlie, "why do you think we've been skipped? We've got quite a bit of shiny, sparkly things." But Charlie just smiled and said that maybe it had something to do with me being in the newspaper business, and such.
Dear Veronica,
Ever since I had my third child and became addicted to Reese's Pieces and Gummy Bears, I've put on weight. I just can't seem to take it off. People keep telling me that I should eat less and exercise more, but I"m running all the time. And the Gummy Bears give me energy. I don't think I"ll ever be a perfect size 8 again, what should I do?
Sized Out
Dear Size,
I think that you should shop at The Second Hand over on West Avenue. There's a size 8 dress there for everyone, I guarantee.
Veronica
Sunday, April 5, 2009
A STORIED PAST
Iggy Braithwait should have been enjoying some much needed time in the deserved lime light, but she wasn't having any of it. Quite the contrary, she spent a good deal of effort denying any part of it. Well, Isabel was quite right, I think, saying that Iggy's problem was in getting beyond the discovery that she'd been shopping at The Second Hand store. Really no way around it, of course. After all, it's not as if Babson Hurley's necklace was in the front window. It was clearly resting smack in the center of the inside display case, and Iggy most certainly had inserted her entire self into the store to be able to spot it. The necklace, that is. Naturally, a nice piece like that would be in a special setting. Poor Mr. Heung, nice sweet man that he is. He was quite besides himself knowing that one of the lifted items ended up in hs store. He asked me to come with him in taking the necklace over to the Hurley's house. And I would have gone, too, but the Police were absolutely unreasonable insisting that it, the necklace that is, was evidence and needed to stay with them. Babson made a very nice point to send Mr. Heung a thank you note and from what I could gather they made plans for coffee next week. Of course, I learned this from Mr. Heung and I'm not entirely certain if that is their plan. Could be they're on for a game of paddle tennis. Doesn't speak English, Mr. Heung. But he is so good at acting things out.
But back to Iggy. I had all good intent to chat with her about the goings on at The Second Hand, but she never did show up for our Women's Club meeting yesterday. Isabel says that she, Iggy that is, is laying short. Or down. Something to do with her keeping out of our eyesight. Now I do think she should just show off her finds at The Second Hand, put a quick stop to some of the snickering going on with some of the women. After all, The Second Hand is a marvelous place to find gems and treasures.
In fact, it was just yesterday, at our meeting, that I was quite proud to stand and show off the Royal Albert tea cups I'd found there last summer and I said so, too. That is, I said that I found the tea cups at The Second Hand and now I'm donating them as part of our tea cup drive. Well, that's when I had my idea. Just as I was about to take some applause I had my idea, gave a nod to Isabel and skooted out the door and on over to Iggy's.
Well, we were a bit out of breath, the two of us, me mostly for having to chase Iggy round to her back yard before she gave up and agreed to speak to me. Iggy was breathless because she admitted she'd been dodging quite a few of the women. Silly really. She's always been a stunner, Iggy has, what with those green eyes and porceline skin. But, poor thing says she's taken to The Second Hand since putting on a few pounds these past few years. Says she finds the things in Mr. Heung's little store are a bit roomier. And she is quite correct. Mr. Heung's English is not all that and he tends to put "size 8" on most all of the Ladies merchandise. I found that interesting myself when several items were just swimming on me and I'm absolutely certain I've not been dieting. Now we do get on well together, Mr. Heung and I. Naturally he confided in me that "8" is the only English number he knows how to write. Or possibly what he meant to convey was that size doesn't matter. He is a very insightful man, you know.
But the point here is that I had a plan, a good one, too, on how to salvage poor Iggy's fragile reputation with the other ladies. After all, I found such a smart set of tea cups at The Second Hand, it seems quite reasonable that Iggy would also find a nice set of tea cups. And that is what is important at the moment. Tea cups. We are, after all, right in the middle of our spring Tea Cup drive at the club. It's no small wonder that Iggy has become an absolute fan of my advice column, now that she is convinced that I am brilliant. Of course, we still had to visit The Second Hand to actually find some more tea cups. And that is how we realized that Iggy may just have started a trend amongst our women's club. We were on our way to The Second Hand when we saw Constance Cortnoy leaving the store.
"I bet she's stocking up on silver wear for her tailgate party," Iggy breathed in shock, realizing that Constance's tailgate party may be second hand, too. As for me, I'm not concerned where someone acquires their finer goods. I was finally going to get a nice set of food and water bowls for Betsy Perkins and her Mr. Marmalade.
But I didn't dilly dally long, not when Iggy reminded me that I had more advice to give.
Dear Veronica,
I have a friend who will do almost anything to get attention. It drives me nuts. Just because the burglar broke into my house and took a set of Vera Wang china from my house, she had to go and have the burglar brake into her house, too. Only, there's not much to take of any value, she has no nice jewelry and her china is all chipped. So she went and got herself even more attention then me because the burglar actually left her a nice diamond tennis bracelet that he'd lifted from another house.
No China
Dear China,
He really is a nice man, that burglar. I think he may have given my friend a cat.
Veronica
But back to Iggy. I had all good intent to chat with her about the goings on at The Second Hand, but she never did show up for our Women's Club meeting yesterday. Isabel says that she, Iggy that is, is laying short. Or down. Something to do with her keeping out of our eyesight. Now I do think she should just show off her finds at The Second Hand, put a quick stop to some of the snickering going on with some of the women. After all, The Second Hand is a marvelous place to find gems and treasures.
In fact, it was just yesterday, at our meeting, that I was quite proud to stand and show off the Royal Albert tea cups I'd found there last summer and I said so, too. That is, I said that I found the tea cups at The Second Hand and now I'm donating them as part of our tea cup drive. Well, that's when I had my idea. Just as I was about to take some applause I had my idea, gave a nod to Isabel and skooted out the door and on over to Iggy's.
Well, we were a bit out of breath, the two of us, me mostly for having to chase Iggy round to her back yard before she gave up and agreed to speak to me. Iggy was breathless because she admitted she'd been dodging quite a few of the women. Silly really. She's always been a stunner, Iggy has, what with those green eyes and porceline skin. But, poor thing says she's taken to The Second Hand since putting on a few pounds these past few years. Says she finds the things in Mr. Heung's little store are a bit roomier. And she is quite correct. Mr. Heung's English is not all that and he tends to put "size 8" on most all of the Ladies merchandise. I found that interesting myself when several items were just swimming on me and I'm absolutely certain I've not been dieting. Now we do get on well together, Mr. Heung and I. Naturally he confided in me that "8" is the only English number he knows how to write. Or possibly what he meant to convey was that size doesn't matter. He is a very insightful man, you know.
But the point here is that I had a plan, a good one, too, on how to salvage poor Iggy's fragile reputation with the other ladies. After all, I found such a smart set of tea cups at The Second Hand, it seems quite reasonable that Iggy would also find a nice set of tea cups. And that is what is important at the moment. Tea cups. We are, after all, right in the middle of our spring Tea Cup drive at the club. It's no small wonder that Iggy has become an absolute fan of my advice column, now that she is convinced that I am brilliant. Of course, we still had to visit The Second Hand to actually find some more tea cups. And that is how we realized that Iggy may just have started a trend amongst our women's club. We were on our way to The Second Hand when we saw Constance Cortnoy leaving the store.
"I bet she's stocking up on silver wear for her tailgate party," Iggy breathed in shock, realizing that Constance's tailgate party may be second hand, too. As for me, I'm not concerned where someone acquires their finer goods. I was finally going to get a nice set of food and water bowls for Betsy Perkins and her Mr. Marmalade.
But I didn't dilly dally long, not when Iggy reminded me that I had more advice to give.
Dear Veronica,
I have a friend who will do almost anything to get attention. It drives me nuts. Just because the burglar broke into my house and took a set of Vera Wang china from my house, she had to go and have the burglar brake into her house, too. Only, there's not much to take of any value, she has no nice jewelry and her china is all chipped. So she went and got herself even more attention then me because the burglar actually left her a nice diamond tennis bracelet that he'd lifted from another house.
No China
Dear China,
He really is a nice man, that burglar. I think he may have given my friend a cat.
Veronica
Monday, March 30, 2009
A QUIET LITTLE STREET
Saint Alban's is a quiet town. Usually, at least. At times the local college kids get a bit noisy. But that is usually only if their team wins a big game. This past weekend, their team won a big game. It was so exciting. Now, my street, Devonwood, is probably the quietest of quiet streets. Charlie and I can't hear what our neighbors are up to, and we don't think they can hear what we're up to, either. That's probably why neighbors call out "Hey, Charlie, What's up?" when they see him. And Charlie does the same when he sees them. Or, sometimes they may say "How are you, Charlie?", and he'll reply in similar fashion. Occasionally someone will ask about our son, Chip. Naturally, we ask about their children, too. But very often we ask one another "What's up?". And, our nice quiet street is good that way. We can't hear what goes on in one another's homes, what with the trees, the hedges, a lot of privacy fences and nice, large lawns surrounding our homes.
But this weekend was a bit different. The college team was in a big game. Everyone was excited all day long in anticipation of the game. A big championship. I would absolutely tell you what it was all about, but I'm not quite sure and at this point am hesitant to ask. You know how it is, you go around nodding "yes, yes, very exciting. Can't wait for the game. Go Wildcats" all day long to everyone you see around town. Well, after that, one can hardly ask what the game is all about, now can they? And, after all, Charlie says I'd never catch up. Or maybe it was catch on? But the point here is, that round about eleven o'clock, the game ended and our local school won. Well you can imagine the cheering that went on. I heard that the college kids actually blocked the roads over by the college as they streamed out of their dorms and fraternity houses, hooting and hollering. Well our quiet street is quite a few blocks, maybe a mile, from the campus so we didn't hear any of that. But we did hear our neighbors.
The McWoogle's had a large group over at their house, all to watch the game on their big screen. Now, they have a large French Colonial a few houses up, a bit gaudy but still quite nice. And their guests' cars were lined all up and down the road. Charlie and I were invited over, of course, but Charlie said he didn't want to attend because Victor McWoogle has a habit of slapping everyone on the back every time his team makes a point and that Charlie felt a good game could end up causing him several bruises. Victor McWoogle is a fairly big man, after all. So Charlie and I decided to go out to dinner that night.
Now, we're normally a rather early couple. No late nights for us. But we decided to stay past dinner for a bit of cheer at the pub, joined in some of the fun. I clapped and yelled and cheered, occasionally at the wrong times according to Charlie. But it was fun. And the nicest people over at the pub, too. Everyone was happy and cheery and glad to see one another. Well, we decided to head home after the unfortunate beer incident. We really are just so far from our college days and so very unfamiliar with spilling beer on ourselves. And that man next to me was even more out of practice, from the looks of his face when I spilled a bit of his beer on him.
So we hurried home, in the car that is. Of course, we probably could have walked from our home, but Charlie didn't want the McWoogle's to see our car in the drive. So we headed up Devonwood in our car and were absolutely amazed at all of the cars parked along the road. Charlie says that is what happens when you offer free beer to your friends that are cheap. They park up and down the road. The cheap friends, that is. Why, it was so crowded with cars that we nearly hit poor Conroy Cortnoy as he darted between two parked cars and into the street in front of us. "So sorry, Conroy," Charlie called out his window after he braked, "better hurry back to Victor's or you'll miss the end of the game." Poor Conroy was so distracted that he barely answered Charlie and ended up hurrying away in the complete opposite direction from the McWoogle's, almost dropping the sack he was carrying.
Just as well, though. Within minutes of our arrival home, the McWoogle's door opened up and their guests filled the street, cheering and yelling and singing of Victory. Oh how appropriate, I just realized, that Victor hosted the Victory party. I do say that my journalism career is having a profound effect on my writing abilities.
Well with all of the celebrating going on that night, you can imagine the shock that Betsy Perkins felt the next day when she went down to her kitchen first thing and found that she had a cat. Absolutely stunned, she was. She'd never had a cat before and had no memory of ever going to get this one. She rang me early and asked me to come round, as she knows how well I get along with cats. There are a few strays in the neighborhood and I always leave some food and fresh water out back for them. So naturally I recognized the cat in Betsy's house. "That's Mr. Marmalaid," I told her. He's been round our block now for a few months. Very nice, meows thank you, but won't let me near enough to catch him, bring him inside, you know. "How on earth did you get him in, Betsy?" I asked, just stunned at her accomplishment. And she had absolutely no idea. She and Ned, that's Mr. Perkins, had been across the way at the McWoogle's last night, and she admitted there was, as Charlie predicted, a lot of free beer. Well, that must explain it, we decided. You see, Betsy is really purely a martini gal. It must have been that beer she had. Anyway, Mr. Marmalaid seemed to be enjoying the Perkin's home, having made himself quite comfortable in the kitchen window seat after finishing off some of Betsy's canned tuna.
I wished them well and was about to be on my way when a bit of investigative journalism took hold of me. "Betsy", I asked her quizzically, "is anything missing". Now this was odd because normally Betsy tells me that I'm missing something. We decided to give a look round and I stayed to help. All of the furniture appeared normal and the kitchen looked quite well stocked. But upstairs, Betsy's was horrified to discover that she was missing an emerald cocktail ring. But the worst, for Betsy at least, was when she discovered that the hat she had just purchased for the Malvern Hunt Tailgate was missing. She was about to go running to Ned in despair when he came in from the garage growling that his new golf clubs were gone.
I told Charlie how glad I am that we decided to cheer on the college at the pub, instead of at the McWoogle's house. After all, I'm determined to win the Most Beautiful Hat contest at the tailgates this year and what a tragedy it would have been if I'd lost my new hat at the McWoogle's house. And anyway, we really do have enough cats in our house.
Oh yes, my colomn this week was particularly good. Mr. Petigrew even called it a "doozy".
Dear Veronica,
I think my friend's husband is cheating on her. I always see him leaving the house late at night, keeping the lights out and kind of creeping around. He comes home a couple of hours later acting very secretive. And very quiet. If it wasn't for my binoculars with night vision lighting I'd never be able to see what he's up to. Should I tell my friend?
Neighbor
Dear Neighbor,
Well if your friend has a need for good binoculars, maybe she's a bird watcher, then yes. Definetly tell her. But otherwise, it just sounds as if you're bragging about them.
Thank you for your note,
Veronica
But this weekend was a bit different. The college team was in a big game. Everyone was excited all day long in anticipation of the game. A big championship. I would absolutely tell you what it was all about, but I'm not quite sure and at this point am hesitant to ask. You know how it is, you go around nodding "yes, yes, very exciting. Can't wait for the game. Go Wildcats" all day long to everyone you see around town. Well, after that, one can hardly ask what the game is all about, now can they? And, after all, Charlie says I'd never catch up. Or maybe it was catch on? But the point here is, that round about eleven o'clock, the game ended and our local school won. Well you can imagine the cheering that went on. I heard that the college kids actually blocked the roads over by the college as they streamed out of their dorms and fraternity houses, hooting and hollering. Well our quiet street is quite a few blocks, maybe a mile, from the campus so we didn't hear any of that. But we did hear our neighbors.
The McWoogle's had a large group over at their house, all to watch the game on their big screen. Now, they have a large French Colonial a few houses up, a bit gaudy but still quite nice. And their guests' cars were lined all up and down the road. Charlie and I were invited over, of course, but Charlie said he didn't want to attend because Victor McWoogle has a habit of slapping everyone on the back every time his team makes a point and that Charlie felt a good game could end up causing him several bruises. Victor McWoogle is a fairly big man, after all. So Charlie and I decided to go out to dinner that night.
Now, we're normally a rather early couple. No late nights for us. But we decided to stay past dinner for a bit of cheer at the pub, joined in some of the fun. I clapped and yelled and cheered, occasionally at the wrong times according to Charlie. But it was fun. And the nicest people over at the pub, too. Everyone was happy and cheery and glad to see one another. Well, we decided to head home after the unfortunate beer incident. We really are just so far from our college days and so very unfamiliar with spilling beer on ourselves. And that man next to me was even more out of practice, from the looks of his face when I spilled a bit of his beer on him.
So we hurried home, in the car that is. Of course, we probably could have walked from our home, but Charlie didn't want the McWoogle's to see our car in the drive. So we headed up Devonwood in our car and were absolutely amazed at all of the cars parked along the road. Charlie says that is what happens when you offer free beer to your friends that are cheap. They park up and down the road. The cheap friends, that is. Why, it was so crowded with cars that we nearly hit poor Conroy Cortnoy as he darted between two parked cars and into the street in front of us. "So sorry, Conroy," Charlie called out his window after he braked, "better hurry back to Victor's or you'll miss the end of the game." Poor Conroy was so distracted that he barely answered Charlie and ended up hurrying away in the complete opposite direction from the McWoogle's, almost dropping the sack he was carrying.
Just as well, though. Within minutes of our arrival home, the McWoogle's door opened up and their guests filled the street, cheering and yelling and singing of Victory. Oh how appropriate, I just realized, that Victor hosted the Victory party. I do say that my journalism career is having a profound effect on my writing abilities.
Well with all of the celebrating going on that night, you can imagine the shock that Betsy Perkins felt the next day when she went down to her kitchen first thing and found that she had a cat. Absolutely stunned, she was. She'd never had a cat before and had no memory of ever going to get this one. She rang me early and asked me to come round, as she knows how well I get along with cats. There are a few strays in the neighborhood and I always leave some food and fresh water out back for them. So naturally I recognized the cat in Betsy's house. "That's Mr. Marmalaid," I told her. He's been round our block now for a few months. Very nice, meows thank you, but won't let me near enough to catch him, bring him inside, you know. "How on earth did you get him in, Betsy?" I asked, just stunned at her accomplishment. And she had absolutely no idea. She and Ned, that's Mr. Perkins, had been across the way at the McWoogle's last night, and she admitted there was, as Charlie predicted, a lot of free beer. Well, that must explain it, we decided. You see, Betsy is really purely a martini gal. It must have been that beer she had. Anyway, Mr. Marmalaid seemed to be enjoying the Perkin's home, having made himself quite comfortable in the kitchen window seat after finishing off some of Betsy's canned tuna.
I wished them well and was about to be on my way when a bit of investigative journalism took hold of me. "Betsy", I asked her quizzically, "is anything missing". Now this was odd because normally Betsy tells me that I'm missing something. We decided to give a look round and I stayed to help. All of the furniture appeared normal and the kitchen looked quite well stocked. But upstairs, Betsy's was horrified to discover that she was missing an emerald cocktail ring. But the worst, for Betsy at least, was when she discovered that the hat she had just purchased for the Malvern Hunt Tailgate was missing. She was about to go running to Ned in despair when he came in from the garage growling that his new golf clubs were gone.
I told Charlie how glad I am that we decided to cheer on the college at the pub, instead of at the McWoogle's house. After all, I'm determined to win the Most Beautiful Hat contest at the tailgates this year and what a tragedy it would have been if I'd lost my new hat at the McWoogle's house. And anyway, we really do have enough cats in our house.
Oh yes, my colomn this week was particularly good. Mr. Petigrew even called it a "doozy".
Dear Veronica,
I think my friend's husband is cheating on her. I always see him leaving the house late at night, keeping the lights out and kind of creeping around. He comes home a couple of hours later acting very secretive. And very quiet. If it wasn't for my binoculars with night vision lighting I'd never be able to see what he's up to. Should I tell my friend?
Neighbor
Dear Neighbor,
Well if your friend has a need for good binoculars, maybe she's a bird watcher, then yes. Definetly tell her. But otherwise, it just sounds as if you're bragging about them.
Thank you for your note,
Veronica
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