Sacrée Merde
Ah, mes petits darlings, but I must apologize for yesterday's ramblings as indeed I had too much to drink.
But I had reason to! My show here in Pouqueville has been an absolute smash hit with raving reviews. Granted most of the reviews were written from my boudoir. But that's neither here nor there. Well, actually, it is here since here is where I sit, tapping on my keyboard, every keystroke making my head beg for mercy. Which brings me back to my raving reviews.
I long for the days when I was escorted to and from the theatre by town car. But those were the days in which I had cher Herr von Prinzeregenstrassefahradgescheft at my beck and call. Now, I am forced to shlep across town like a commoner--on a public bus for that matter--painfully reminding me of the past I so readily left behind back on the Coast. And as for Herr von Prinzeregenstrassefahradgescheft, the dear isn't as nimble as he once was.
"A commoner!" I say, with the taste of bile in my throat. The woman I am now is anything but common! It says so in my reviews. If only I were paid for my panache as in days of yore. But there you have it: the public was more inclined to frequent the theatre. Nowadays, they scurry about in their bourgeois ennui, in a hurry to get where, I ask!
But I digress. At least I still have my myriad gentleman suitors clamoring at my dressing room door, begging to surrender to their unbridled rapaciousness. I am only too happy to indulge, yet I must maintain my poise. However, outside the theatre, after the show, in the rear allée we throw caution to the wind, and anything goes!
And now I must dash, for dear Herr von Prinzeregenstrassefahradgescheft will be awaking soon from his mid-afternoon interlude. Ta-ta for now!
But I had reason to! My show here in Pouqueville has been an absolute smash hit with raving reviews. Granted most of the reviews were written from my boudoir. But that's neither here nor there. Well, actually, it is here since here is where I sit, tapping on my keyboard, every keystroke making my head beg for mercy. Which brings me back to my raving reviews.
I long for the days when I was escorted to and from the theatre by town car. But those were the days in which I had cher Herr von Prinzeregenstrassefahradgescheft at my beck and call. Now, I am forced to shlep across town like a commoner--on a public bus for that matter--painfully reminding me of the past I so readily left behind back on the Coast. And as for Herr von Prinzeregenstrassefahradgescheft, the dear isn't as nimble as he once was.
"A commoner!" I say, with the taste of bile in my throat. The woman I am now is anything but common! It says so in my reviews. If only I were paid for my panache as in days of yore. But there you have it: the public was more inclined to frequent the theatre. Nowadays, they scurry about in their bourgeois ennui, in a hurry to get where, I ask!
But I digress. At least I still have my myriad gentleman suitors clamoring at my dressing room door, begging to surrender to their unbridled rapaciousness. I am only too happy to indulge, yet I must maintain my poise. However, outside the theatre, after the show, in the rear allée we throw caution to the wind, and anything goes!
And now I must dash, for dear Herr von Prinzeregenstrassefahradgescheft will be awaking soon from his mid-afternoon interlude. Ta-ta for now!