Mood:
mischieviousTopic: "bitch,bitch,bitch"(6)
"I'm really looking forward to our luncheon tomorrow, Mr. Frodo," said the voice on the far end of the telephone. "I'm sure I will recognize the famous Frodo Baggins without any difficulty, but I wanted to put you at ease and tell you that I will be the lady wearing a magenta blouse."
Magenta, eh? Frodo supposed that Magenta was probably a brand name, like Pierre Cardin or Yves St. Laurent. He asked Samwise over dinner that evening.
He learned, vehemently, that most not meeting the definition of moron could identify magenta as a color. He asked if it in anyway resembled puce?
Frodo was reminded of the story he recently heard about the National Park Service Rangers who care for the area of the Everglades that houses the famous, night-blooming, aromatic, "ghost orchids." A couple of the Rangers camped out one night on a hillock amid the vast wetland in order to observe the blooms at night, and to sniff the aroma, up close and personal. When they gathered together, they asked each other to describe the aroma. The best they could come up with was that the aroma was "clean."
When they recalled this description to friends, including one fiancee of a participant, they received mockery and derision, aimed at the male of the species, and his inability to identify true beauty. So the fiancee accompanied the Rangers on a trip back to the same area several nights later. The Rangers found several "ghost orchids" in the trees, and lifted the young lady up into the canopy so that she could provide expert testimony regarding the aromatic beauty. When she finally returned to solid ground, the Rangers waited anxiously in order to hear her enlightened description of the aroma. Her comment, to their chagrin (or amusement), was that the flower, indeed, smelled "clean."
Now that Frodo is well into the sixth year of his ramblings herein, he has become the target of complaint from those among his trusted following. It seems that there is and has been discomfort with the color and the structure of this which supports his words. Frodo is a believer in both hope and change, and is therefore quite willing to meet the visual needs and the artistic desires of those attempting to assemble words from consonants. "But, after more than five years?"
Oh well, says Frodo, perhaps had Magellan not taken note of the suggestions of his crew, he might well have hit Antarctica head-on.
Be sure however, he tells us, that the soon-to-appear changes will not involve any resemblance to the hue magenta, nor will anyone think that even a whiff of anything clean will be in evidence.
