I’m sitting at my desk eating potatoes in an underhanded manner. I have to hide it because a big pile of potatoes with dill doesn’t seem like the kind of snack that Boss would approve of. It’s not a tidy secretarial gnosh, it’s a full-fledged meal.
Ooh busted, Boss #2 just caught me shovelling in a forkful. “Is this a late lunch or an early dinner?” he said in a stentorian voice, making me feel like a small Irish child caught with two gerbil-cheeks full of bangers and mash.
“Bowthf,” I said meekly. He stalked on.
In other root-vegetable news, I got another e-mail from the Sicilian. Apparently his roommate has taken my cat away for good. Also, he appears to have a website; nothing’s on it yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. And no, I’m not telling where it is. Like any of you give a flying ferret anyway.
Also got a few e-mails from Allen, our sly little friend in South America, mainly of the “I’m alive, don’t panic, politics down here are dreadful” variety. So if you read this, and you know him, and you didn’t get an e-mail, and you DO have a flying ferret for this cause, well, rest assured the peacock is alive and strumming.