Hell Hath No Fury . . .
At Queen Dee’s command, I obediently went to my car and opened the passenger door for Her Highness before getting into the driver’s seat myself. There was something about the Queen’s demeanor that elicited serf-like behavior from almost everyone she encountered as she exercised her sovereign right to be served. Obedience verging on servitude may in fact reside within the collective consciousness of humanity, which lineage has been enslaved far too long. And, even if royalty is only a matter of making haughty claims and snotty demands based on an assumption of rulership that is predicated solely on centuries of abuse inculcated into our brains, it still works like a charm.
As we pulled out onto the road, I had many questions rolling around in my mind. How did she know where I was? I didn’t tell her. Did she know the Lady in Black Leather, the only possible leak that I could remember? Not likely. They lived 60 miles away from each other, and Harley Bikers were not the Queen’s type. Nothing I came up with made any sense. Neither did the fact that she showed up at my well-hidden door without any evidence of a vehicle in sight.
Lacking any logical answers, I starting getting creative about how this may have come about. Was she dropped off by an ET spacecraft that was possibly hovering over my property but cloaked by an invisibility beam? (Although I had allegedly swept the previous encounter with that errant star out of my mind, it was still nagging me in the background, so this possible explanation could not completely be dismissed.)
You may by now be wondering why I just didn’t simply ask her how all this happened rather than going on a speculation spree. However, judging from the steam that I could almost visibly see rising from her head, and the curt and somewhat snippy commands, “Turn Right” and “Turn Left”, I deferred to caution and decided that silent servitude seemed safer under the circumstance. As everyone on this planet knows, hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Queen.
Further speculating, and based on her demeanor, I considered that maybe she arrived at my place by broom. Although I couldn’t recall where she might have parked it, it would have been easily overlooked. Maybe that innocuous broom on the front porch was actually hers.
Before I got any further down this line of thinking, she unexpectedly interrupted my thoughts with a burst of laughter. What caused it? At first I couldn’t tell what was so funny, having lived in this area of the world too long to actually see it anymore. I refocused and took another look around, as if I were also from New York City, which shouldn’t be too hard because I am. She was right. It was funny.
We were in the heart of the downtown area of a complete Ghost Town, with a sum total of eight buildings, many of which were in various states of melting back into the ground. There was no sign of inhabitants, or any other living thing. The only indication that there actually might be any life-forms was a single sign that warned: CAUTION – punctuated by the face of a cow looking straight back at you, and followed by the words – CONGESTED AREA. This was definitely a wild overstatement from a New York point of view. The only other thing that could have been more ludicrous would have been a traffic light.
I joined the Queen in laughter. She consequently returned to her former exalted self and I abandoned the “Broom Theory”. The Queen then happily whipped out her nail file and proceeded to do a manicure which she was now forced to do for herself, and we moved further on down the road, being ever so cautious to not hit any non-existent cows.
Continue to the next exciting adventure of – I Will Blend No More Forever – Part VII