The party’s over, as Judy Holliday used to sing.
Thanks to everyone for stopping by and making a mess. The best. Making this the best virtual cocktail party I’ve every thrown. Mary Richards, eat your heart out (TV reference, anyone?).
For the next week I’m going to be busy vacuuming, and hauling drunken revelers out of the pool. Charles Laughton seems to have fallen asleep under the piano, and he’s too big for me to move. Margaret Dumont and the alpaca left together this morning. They seem to have bonded.
So far, I found three Buffalo Nickels and two Mercury Head Dimes in the couch cushions. Not bad, huh?
See you next week.
4 comments:
Ah well, fun while it lasted. I wonder if that's Margaret down in the pasture?
Print dress, big hat, too much jewelry?
Darn it. Late again. By the time I got there Eric Blore and Halliwell Hobbes were clearing the glasses away. Shucks.
Good one, Matthew. I had hired Arthur Treacher to help out as well, but he kept tap dancing with some little blonde kid, and I had to fire him.
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