The discussion on the aforementioned board soon turned into a mass of posts retelling, in sometimes lurid detail, the many musicians, rock stars, and strange smelly people the other vintage sellers had encountered, and I use the word loosely. Then, another seller wrote THIS:
Give it up, Elisa...we all know your "personal assistant" is really Bucky.
I responded thusly:
DAHLINGS, I am back!
After an exceedingly relaxing bathe, I changed into a silk ensemble that reeked of impeccable chic and dry cleaning fluid, that stopped traffic as I strolled languidly through the barrio. Ah, I treasure the calls of "Mommy! You got it goin' on!" I merely blush and turn away. They wish.
And yes, my underpants were steamed smooth and then put in the icebox, as is my custom during the summer months.As to the jealous lowlife who insinuated that Bucky the Replaced Wonderdog is my personal assistant, I say only, HA! And HA! again! The little nuisance has been sent packing and in his place I have a...wait a minute, I have to go in the kitchen and look...it's behind a fenced-in area by the stove...can't have the little beast pooping on the Aubusson...it's Japanese and very chic, that's the important thing...
OH! ITS DISGUSTING, SMELLY POOP HAS NOT BEEN CLEANED UP AND IT'S BEEN AT LEAST TWO MINUTES! GET IN HERE, YOU CLOWN, AND IF YOU'RE NOT FAST, I'LL MAKE YOU PICK IT UP WITH YOUR TEETH!
Excuse me. Ahem. My assistant (NOT Bucky) is a lower class ne'erdowell. Let me explain the reason for my re-appearance:You are all bragging about the famous people you have slept with, sold to, glimpsed on the street, or found yourself under after a night spent snorting cocaine and drinking cheap bourbon.
Well, dahlings, I have slept with not ONLY the most important and famous men in this country, but ALSO the women! I had to replace DH as well, because he kept complaining about the limousines coming and going (as was I...nothing stokes a woman's libido like fame). Of course, I'm not going to be so declasse' as to name names. But every time you pick up an issue of People or Business Week, think of me.
The men were for the pleasure. The women so they would be so stunned by my delicate yet ferocious lingerie, they would buy it off my sleek, tanned back. Ah, the memories...and the incriminating videos shot by my Hide-a-cam behind the vintage 50s swinging cat-tail clock.
The only reason Bucky is still on my signature and my 'About Me' page on Ebay under my selling ID, Hoardmeister, is that my personal assistant, lazy swine, just passed out from fatigue before she could update them. Excuse me, I have to go kick her awake.
Ciao, dahlings, it's been ever so...
Elisa and Bucky The Wonderdog
Pre-Labor Day Fashion Tip: When Ernesto is coming, it is not "romantic" to walk along the beach in a filmy, gauzy, mid-calf skirt. You look ridiculous because it is being blown up backwards and we can all see your K-mart lingerie. Or at least I can, from here.