Aspazia discovered that the same rules apply to love and politics.
First: Know your opposition.
First: Know your opposition.
Aspazia Feminista, blond, beautiful and entirely bedazzled, got out of Blane Winter's sedan and stood smiling with unbidden adoration at the big man inside the car.
"See you tonight? About seven?" Blane asked.
His velvet baritone had the same enthralling effect on Rosalie (aka Aspazia) that it had on political audiences, and her cheeks bloomed pink. "That's right, Mr. Winters."
"Call me Blane."
Dazed with bliss, she turned around and ran into a rosebush. Then, weaving slightly, she went slowly up the driveway. She couldn't get over it that she, a mere kid of 35, a philosopher who still had trouble remembering the difference between modus ponens and modus tollens, could have attracted this handsome attorney, a dozen years older than she was, Republican candidate for state assembly and her political opposition for the past year.
***
Who wants to play? Just post a comment to keep the story going . . .
As Rosalie fumbled her way into her apartment, Kitty rolled onto her back because she liked the way Rosalie look upsidedown. Rosaline seemd excited about something, Kitty could tell by the tone in which she spoke. Kitty's ears twitched at the higher than usual pitch, the way it wavered and swirled about her whiskers.
ReplyDeleteRarely did Kitty expose her vulnerable underbelly to anyone, but since she trusted Rosalie explicitly (they had be co-inhabiting for some time now, Kitty didn't know how long) she continue the prostrate position, enticing Rosalie to scratch. Rosie was smart as a whip, Kitty thought as the fingernails played this way and that in her fur. But then, something. Not right.
Kitty could sense a change. Something definitely not...Rosalie. The scent. Rosalie wore a light flowery perfume that tickled and tempted one's sensitive kitty nose, but this...this was strong, overpowering cologne. And coming from Rosalie! Kitty flopped over to let Rosalie know that the scratching; it was over. Kitty sniffed closer, then recoiled, eyes squinting. Something was not right.
Meanwhile, Blane Winters had driven away from the bedazzled Rosalie, thinking "that is one hot piece of philosophical ass. I wonder if I could get her into bed? I mean, she clearly recognizes what I have to offer, looking up to me like that, tripping over her words--like I didn't notice!--I deserve that kind of admiration. It's way better than being bitched at by..."
ReplyDeleteJust then his cell phone rang.
Shit. "Hello? Yeah, hi honey. No, I forget to pick up the dry cleaning. Don't we have a maid for that? I'm sorry, housekeeper? [f***kin' political correctness] Yes, I do listen to you...No, it doesn't mean I don't love you if I forget to do what you ask.... Damn, Karen! I've had a hard day! Can't you wait until I get home to give me grief? Yeah, bye. See you soon. Yeah, you too." (click)
"Now, where was I?" He thought to himself. Oh yeah, that little Rosalie babe. Yum.....
Meanwhile Rosalie was recounting how wonderful this handsome lawyer was to her best friend Veronica. Veronica listened to Rosalie with impatience, tired of hearing her get elated over another smuck, and a Republican smuck no less.
ReplyDeleteIt turns out that Veronica knew that Blane was married. She also knew that Blane was getting rather bored with his wifey at home, and often prowled on "bleeding heart" philosophers (esp. if they voted Democrat).
***
On his drive home Blane imagined the benefits of a liberal dame on the side. "She probably embraces infidelity" he chuckled to himself . . .
Veronica Firestein was always amazed at how Rosalie would be hopelessly drawn to powerful, charismatic men. Smuck, smuck, smuck, she thought. Then, she paused. Something was wrong. Oy, her bubbe would kill her. She was mis-thinking Yiddish again. "Schmuck!" She cried out.
ReplyDelete;-)
Veronica is a Jew?
ReplyDeleteOk . . .
**
Why was Veronica so wise in the way of Schmuck's? (here we need a montage!)
It all began when Veronica first met Dagwood. Dagwood seemed to be everything a sensible, brunette vixen could want. Dagwood was funny, sensitive to Veronica's needs, and, best of all, he was a strapping, dumb cartoon.
He was also married to Blondie. And he was poor. Daddy would never approve. He would hate Dagwood the same way he hated Archie. Poor Veronica. Sometimes, when she looked at Rosalie, with her waspy good looks and her lustrous blonde hair, she thought of Blondie and felt envious. Why should blondes get all the guys? Then she felt guilty for envying the goyim. Better to think about what a schmuck Blane was.
ReplyDeleteAgain, Kitty's nose was assaulted. Rosalie's distraction was becoming quite obvious. The litter needed changing.
ReplyDeleteThe next morning, Kitty sat in the hallway on the hardwood floor. A clock the shape of a hot water bottle tick-tocked from the living area. The sky was becoming blue. Kitty gazed through a series of doorways into the kitchen and contemplated the dishtowel that hung from the oven door handle, swaying ever-so-slightly from some unfelt draft. To pull it down, or not? Kitty sighed; Rosalie was usually up by this time. Kitty walked with pooty-paws, through the doorways, to her food dish. Empty. Kitty sighed again.
ReplyDeleteAs she plopped herself down underneath the kitchen table, she thought. Is this going to be a problem? It suddenly struck Kitty what exactly the problem was. A “man”. That was the word they used—they, as in, Rosalie and her friend Veronica. Kitty remembered the last one, the one that insisted on shoving his knuckle into her ear and making circular motions, which she hated. She gave him the claw and he regarded her in the low, ugly tone after that. Shortly after that he stopped coming around. Not a man, Kitty thought. This would affect her feeding schedule, and she hated that more than a knuckle in the ear.
Kitty also knew from listening to Veronica that when “man” is in the picture, Rosalie stopped being what Veronica called “Aspazia.” Aspazia spent her time “Feministing”, which consisted of “writing letters”, “protesting”, and going to “meetings,” among other things. Kitty liked Aspazia because Aspazia fed her on time. Aspazia knew the importance of keeping a schedule and stuck to it obsessively. Kitty’s belly growled. Sigh.
Suddenly, Kitty sprang from underneath the table and flew at the dishtowel, bringing it down on her own head. She lay underneath it. She would have to go wake up Rosalie herself after a few more ticks of the clock.