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The embassy ball - or.. how things work
Fimmtudagur, 16. júní 2005

I could namedropp untill I'm blue in the face but I'm not good remembering names, but I do remember faces. Just didn't bring a camera. So..

Not much to tell really. I was there as a surrogate wife and believe I played my part very convincingly, right down to the nagging and faking of a headache towards the end of the evening. (Olympic silver medal 1988)

My date was very pleased with this performance. After contemplating his next move for a few days he asked me to join him again. Cunning as he is, he brought food to see if I could cook and laundry to see if I could fulfill other domestic duties. I neglected to tell him in advance that I am, without a doubt, the worst cook in the entire universe (see disclaimer).

After frying the duck without plucking it, we ate raw duck. With burned feather garnish. It's one of my special talents. The food is raw on the inside. Burned on the outside. Captivating.

No really.

Might be the oven. However.. his shirt was clean when he left. Wet.. but clean.

You wan't stats on this man? MI5, secret service. My age, looks dynamite in sunglasses. Unfortunately for you.. that's all you need to know and he has asked me to keep my readers on a need to know basis. Force of habit I guess, but I have to comply. The man is armed.

No really.

--

See? It's fiction. With just a hint of truth.
Now put your team of translators back to work and..

-bon voyage!


| anna | 0:07 |
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