A genteel salutation

Hello. Welcome to my boudoir. My name, as you can read from the title above (or can't you? Are you one of those illiterate souls about whom I have read in the Daily Courant?) is Katharina. Hmm. Dreamy, aren't I? If only you could catch a glimpse of my visage. Mon chéri, its dreaminess pairs beautifully with my moniker, like Pouilly-Fuissé pairs with montrachet.

Welcome. I just know we're going to get along famously. Pull up a chair. Did I say, "chair"? Oh, how pedestrian of me. I meant, pull up a chaise. Note the brocade of pure gold, hand-woven into the fabric by several of our 12-year-old indentured servants. I'm a woman who prefers -- no, make that demands -- the finer things in this all-too-often tawdry world. Come, relax and reflect. We will talk about life and love, heartbreak and sin, vodka and blini, the streets of Rome and the frontage roads of Des Moines. Oh, the worlds we will visit, right here beneath the covers. --Giles! Bring out the pomegranates, won't you? My guest here is feeling peckish.

Pardon me. The help around here is indifferent, at best. Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes. We will explore many topics together, you and I, and anyone else who cares to visit. I don't discriminate. I welcome all here, right here, to my humble little villa nestled in the rolling hills of St. Paul. Or, as I prefer to call it: Santo Paolo. Gives it a more ethnic ring. --Thank you, Giles. --Our pomegranates, mon petit miel.

GILES! What is this? Of what metal is this tray constructed? It looks like some sort of alloy. You know I demand all of my serving platters and utensils to be of pure silver. Don't stand there stammering like the Yorkshire-bred chimney-sweep's son you are! Bring me my silver! Fool!

Oh, dear. Dear, dear, dear. My darling, I am so sorry for that horrendous display of cheap steel. I am mortified. I must rest my delicate torso now. The physician said such emotional strain is not beneficial to my pasty complexion, not to mention the effect it has on my consumption. Will you hand me my nightcap from the bedstand? Here, help me remove my bedcoat. Thank you, you are most kind. Tell Giles to bring me my opium pipe...not the one of bone, the one of ivory. My dear uncle Philbert killed that elephant with his bare hands on one of his hunting expeditions in Rhodesia. That pipe is dear to me.

Thank you. It is now time for me to settle into deep slumber. Please do visit again. You are welcome to gaze upon me as I sink into a narcotic coma. My darling, the worlds we will explore....together....zzzzzz......

1 comment:

B. said...

Oh my, this web log is a delight.