Yes, I, Savannah Rachel Plumb, have found myself playing matchmaker for a lovelorn French dame named Beatrice Bonnet, who wants to ask her special someone out for a date -- but she's too shy.
Considering my own non-existent love life, I found this request to be terrifically ironic.
So I hopped on my trusty Kenspa and rode through the town.
Jules was standing up a hill, seemingly waiting for my arrival. I decided he was fairly handsome, with brown spiky hair and a moustache.
In talking to him, I told him about Beatrice, how she was secretly and not-so-secretly infatuated with him.
"Well, if she went through all ze truble for zu to talk to me for her, then I suppose she is worth the time of day," he said in his flushed French accent.
Mademoiselle Bonnet looked like a mousy librarian type, and indeed, I learned she was a bookworm. In a way she reminded me of my aunt. She tried to make conversation with me by asking me if I'd read Margaret Plumb's romance novel, The Notebook.
I didn't want to brag and tell her I was at her foot while she was writing it or that I have the original laptop draft...that would be egotistical of me.
Since she failed to make the connection between me, Savannah Plumb, and the novelist Margaret Plumb -- I mean, seriously, what are the odds? -- I didn't press the issue and make it for her.
All I said was, "It was pretty good, not her best work," which is what Aunt Margaret herself had said. Actually, she'd said she HATED it, but since M'elle Bonnet seemed to be a fan, I didn't want to burst her bubble.
No comments:
Post a Comment