Monday, January 9, 2017

One's pattern

In the last week or two I've
been repairing lacunae in my
table settings, the kind of
thing a bachelor is natural-
ly the last to notice, until
he can't have friends in to
dinner anymore. It turns out
that one's pattern is still
in production, if not in vo-
gue, and this has kept me on
the line with a French firm's
representative in New York.

What's made this risky busi-
ness these days is our next
régime's penchant of hacking
communications to expose the
people of sanity in our na-
tion. It was bad enough, to
be dealing with France for
fish knives, and spoons for
vichyssoise. But what surely
cost me my rating at their
club must have been my reli-
ance upon the good advice of
a female, much less of Arab
descent, and less still of
Muslim heritage. 

She was unfailingly helpful 
in reminding me of requis-
ites of service of my tastes 
to my friends, and posed in
this way some threat to the 
foundations of our security.

But they've said the same
thing of wives and sisters
of everyone who's listened,
and now demand a Department
of Justice committed to in-

is an exertion of affection. 
For aiding mine, I thank her.

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