Fashion Week is over at last, and now I have some time to myself. And I truly mean to myself, because my assistant and my maid both resigned during the past week. So, it's been calls to the employment agencies and take-out from Pastis, until this dry spell is over.
Fortunately, my wonderful pup Bucky is always there for me, in good times and bad. As I type this, he is on my lap, which makes typing slightly difficult. Because his head is resting on my right forearm. But move him? Never! A dog's love is forever--
Oh! He jumped off my lap and trotted out of the room! Damn the beast! Bucky must have smelled the leftover coq au vin in the kitchen that I was heating up.
Heating up my own leftovers...that is what your faithful correspondent is reduced to. But life could be far worse.
This same week, I was profiled in The Three Tomatoes, a simply marvelous e-newsletter aimed at the fairer sex, with both tremendous aplomb and wide circulation. It's an absolute must-read, mes amis.
Here’s the link to yesterday’s newsletter:
Read and enjoy! And envy me, of course. (But then, who does not?) The only fact they got wrong is that I have never been in rehab...that horrible doppelganger with the same name of mine has been, and HOW she got mentioned in the article is beyond me! Being confused with her is so deeply annoying. I have sent letters from my lawyer demanding she change her name, but so far the upstart has refused.
With that one small exception, it is a delightful article in a wonderful publication, so I shall graciously overlook it. Pardonnez moi, I have to go rescue the coq au vin. Bucky has a terribly sensitive little tummy and I cannot have him messing the carpets.
Elisa and Bucky the not-so-Wonderdog