|Once again, Bettysday celebrations were getting a little out of hand...|
- My shabby, yet meticulous, grooming will commence as soon as I hop off 'computer'.
- My early morning will be spent in much the same way as how Constance Daisy Rose Smythe Fforde, daughter of the vicar, would spend hers--wending her way from cottage to cottage, checking on the pensioners and delivering needed tins of Bovril.
- Later, like Bertha Matilda Emily Araminta Seymour, I shall be pressed into service to mind an unforgivably scream-y, ginger-haired toddler. My gentle ministrations will soothe the savage beast however and she will be putty in my hands before you can say, 'Fairy cakes."
- Anxious to prepare an evening meal fit for my Mijnheer van Voorhees, I shall slap it together with an aplomb shared by any heroine who had to churn out vol-au-vents for sixty. No doubt the smear of flour on my unlined brow will inspire the Mijnheer to kiss me until my cheeks are rosy with confusion.
- Afterwards, I plan to don the aprons of Maisie the char woman and set to with a will. (Not at my house. That's what the kids are for!)
- At the close of the day I shall sit in the light of a rose-colored lamp, working away at my
graygrey cotton Sunday dress, whose fabric, salvaged from a fitted sheet, I will pray no handsome stranger recognizes as what it is.
|Professor Nathan van Voorhees hid a smile. That was a sheet, he would bet his life. He shrugged and resumed admiring the neat pair of ankles that went with it...|