It’s nothing I’ve done. Certainly I affect no dignified gate, wear no burgundy cloth, breath no rarefied air. But how I flutter when I consider all the offers I’ve had:
The late wives of Namibian kings who desire nothing but to share their fortune with me.
Countless accountants of deposed princes, an assemblage of earnest executors for the estates of expired aristocrats, administrators of international lotteries, all motivated by the single philanthropic quest for my own prosperity.
And too, there are deans of colleges, doyens of higher learning, presidents of universities offering the degree of my choice, with the post-nominal letters suffixed to my name that would open untold doors.
Then there’s the slate of certified doctors, clipboards of psychologists, ambush of beauticians, troupe of tailors…who would all have me at my best weight, height, hair thickness, skin tension and metal state.
And—I admit with a blush—there are not a few lonely lovers looking simply for fun, or if I prefer, intimacy. In which case there are cabinets of pharmacologists concerned about my own endowment, who stand ready and erect with pills or patches for my impending grand enhancement.
Such concern over my welfare, such blind compassion from strangers humbles me. Only yesterday, a lady named Nancy, who happened to spot my presence upon her screen has simply decided to have a “long lasting friendship” with me, and this, without any solicitation on my part.
It’s difficult to know how to proceed. But generosity such as this comes but several times a day, and as I’ve been taught decency, and the manners to cause no offence, I’ve mailed away my grateful acceptance of all offers. With a P.S: an expression of hope that one day we would all meet in the same room over cocktails.
All, that is, except for an unfortunate unnamed nephew who happens to have lost his wallet while travelling and needs exactly 855 dollars for a return flight from Belgium. I ached to tell him how my personal line of credit was only 854 dollars.
He was so close too!