I have had some commentary and criticism, both public and private, on my tales of Tiddlewinks and other ancestors. Most of it begins with various interpretations of the phrase, "Are you crazy?" to which I answer in impeccable politically correct language, "Hell, no!"
Hubby asks what happens if somebody believes me? Bring it on. Would I lie? If even one sovereign nation won't admit to snatching their passports (and I think the Czech Republic may have had Aunt Greasemonkey's) and the CIA won't acknowledge their existence, does that make them less real?
Zelda reminds me of tales not in the diary and I am making notes. You think my tidbits are outlandish? That's because I haven't yet revealed a lot of Zelda's memories, like the time she (or was it Carcassie, the anorexic niece of Tush?) flew over the Sears building and her hemline got caught on the cell phone tower and she almost fell, but an updraft caught her and took her south to Phlegm, Wisconsin where her husband-to-be coughed up a fortune...well, you get the picture.
I have been told that my ancestry explains a lot of why I am who I am and why when I speak of these nut cases I talk in run-on-and-on sentences, but that's really the only way to describe them. Zelda concurs.
I've been asked how I obtained the diary and I can only say I didn't steal it...not really...it was out in the open, covered only with a cherrywood top...and sides...and back..and a little lock that opened without a key (I used a hairpin). The fact that it was in Lovelace's boudoir has no bearing on my eventual ownership and the lawyer agrees.
After studying my genealogy, I am convinced that I come from a long line of slightly homely relatives (our grandmothers being the first generation of 'lookers'--oh, you haven't seen their pics, have you?) who, for the most part were smart (or at least smart-ass), rich (none of 'em left us a dime--they all spent our inheritance) and wacky. They were also adventurous and of dubious reputation. Most of the still-living ones must be on the run because Zelda found me and had to come out of witness protection when she did and then she blew my cover as an international spy and we haven't yet located any other long-lost cousins, except Hoopla, but she really doesn't count, and it's just as well. I assume the rest of the family is also in some quirky business.
I've been told that I am politically incorrect (see paragraph one)--especially about Gutsy and the bare-naked ride through Persia on a camel-- and that I'm sure to get in S-O M-U-C-H T-R-O-U-B-L-E. I call 'em as I see 'em.
No matter--one can't choose blood (except perhaps in a case like this where their creation and viability give Zelda and I a reason for being)--which is why we must carefully choose our friends.
Time to get back to the diary.
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