Bucky and I are happily esconsced in my exquisite (featured in Architectural Digest) oceanfront mansion. I was reading the Easthampton Star, but I find myself gazing out at the Atlantic Ocean as the sun gleams upon the whitecaps. I have a large contingent of guests here, some of the most famous names in the fashion community. However, they have asked me not to reveal their whereabouts for fear of being swarmed by the paparazzi when they go to the local market. Especially the little stout man who likes to start his day with a six-pack of Budweiser. He has to buy it himself every day because I refuse to put such a common brand on my shopping list!
Each guest tries to outdo the others in fashionable beachwear...quite amusing when one female guest wore one of those stylish outdoor oversized straw hats to the breakfast table. The brim dipped into the Eggs Benedict and we had such a laugh!
As hostess, my only rules are:
- You are not allowed to be boring
- No thong-style bathing suits, no matter how much work you have had done on your buttocks
- Do not try to pick up Bucky and give him a kiss; he looks cute but he will rip your nose off*
- You are NOT allowed to try on my fabulous wardrobe, even if you are male
Speaking of which, two of my guests are arguing who is less relevant, Paris Hilton or Lindsey Lohan. That comes under the subject of boring. Excuse me.
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog
* My guests have to sign a waiver to that effect.