Confessions of the Diva Rotundo (Chapter Eleven, Part One)

As social a creature as I undoubtedly can be, I must confess, during times of stress...oh, hey, that rhymed! How Cole Porter of me! Anyway, I must admit, during periods of woe, I become a worse hermit than Howard Hughes ever was, except for the long scraggly beard and not bathing thing. It’s something I’ve done since I was a child. Well, middle school can do that to you.

So, that’s exactly what I did that entire week-end. I turned off the cell phone, I unplugged the computer, I deleted my Bear411 app, I bought myself three two-gallon tubs of Edie’s Double Fudge Brownie, and I sat on my couch and watched marathon episodes of the Golden Girls for hours on end, capped off every now and then by some of favorite chick flicks. Never underestimate the power of a strong female lead!

One thing I didn’t do was step onto my balcony. The thought of even having to say a word to Sylvia Mastadore after what had passed between us filled me with a revulsion that burned clear down to my soul. Besides that, I still had her with me: I spent the entire week-end picking silvery public hairs out of my mouth. Gah!

Then the week-end was over, far too quickly, and it was time to face the real world once again. Thankfully, I hadn’t heard a word from Officer Dwight. Maybe he was busy harassing other innocent victims.

Like Sylvia’s silvery pubic hairs, his presence lingered. I still had to deal with the damage my demonic Sir Elton had wrought—namely, I had to face Louise bright and early Monday morning. Knowing that she knew. Even worse, having her wonder whether murder was something I was capable of.

I arrived at my office far earlier than usual: eight in the morning. Theoretically, to work on that proposal for the Winter Fundraiser campaign I had promised Sal. But actually, to try and get there before Louise arrived, to avoid having to see her, with her unbearably perky face, sitting behind her desk.

No such luck. She was there when I arrived. Damn her for being a morning person!

( Read on, my lovelies. Or else I'll cut you! )