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Ah, darling, you look divine, I just love what you’ve done with your hair. A bold choice for one of your vintage, but you carry it off beautifully.
More of a lifestyle choice, it’s generally the only style on offer with chemo.
What, cancer?
You don’t recall our last chat?
Absolutely I do, the Met Gala Ball.
Heuvertly Eggcessive’s wedding dinner in Dennis.
Of course, you had the squid.
The veal.
And we danced till dawn.
You disappeared before desserts, as did our table’s two waitresses.
Ah yes, um, lung cancer?
Colon.
Optimistic outlook, 12 months?
I’m in complete remission.
Well, I have to say, Eleanor, I’ve never known anyone rock cancer as well as you.
Mmmm.
I think, Ms Frankicense-Centric, what Hugo is trying to say, but struggling with because of your remarkable aura, is that, despite your significant health issues in the recent past, you’ve never once stopped radiating your warmth and beauty, rather like the Pole Star guiding the rest of us mere mortals along the path of positivity.
Ooooh, you could learn a lot about tact and charm from your servant, Hugo.
My servant? Yes, but Eleanor, I want you to meet Troy Laboy. Troy, this is Eleanor Frankicense-Centric, a dear, dear friend [and a virtual cash machine].
My apologies, Mr Laboy, it really is a pleasure to…gosh…aren’t your lips so very bright red?
I get that a lot, Ms Frankicense-Centric.
I always assumed it was just my TV.
I get that a lot too.
And it’s not lipstick?
No, the male Laboy line have had bright red lips going back generations. In fact, back in the days before women were legally allowed to take paid employment, great-great-great-great-grandfather Roy Laboy worked as a labia model for the Frankicense Warpaint Company.
So, we’re practically family, but why on earth are you here with this old reprobate?
I’m going to be his running mate.
Spffftttttttzzzz…Hugo Sensationist, you seriously expect me to believe Troy Laboy is going to be your running mate.
I’m going to be King Troy.
TROY.
Sorry, Hugo, I mean I’m going to be Prince Troy.
Troy, just shut up…ha ha, he really is such the kidder, he means Second-Best-Guy Laboy and, of course, that’s only if I win and become First-Best-Guy.
Of course you’ll win, especially if you and your huge IQ can think of any way that I and my immense fortune could possibly help.
Oh, Eleanor, I rather think we’re going to make Everything great again.
So, reading between the lines, I think it would be fair for me to infer that Everything used to be great, but it isn’t anymore. I wonder when Everything stopped being great?
Guess the answer probably depends on your political views. Though if you’re one of the originals that lived in these lands for tens of thousands of years before the Slippery Nipple dropped anchor in Leaf Bay, you may believe that everything stopped being great the moment the Hosteller Fathers stepped onto the shore. Some 405 years ago and a full 156 years before the nation of Everything was even officially formed.
That’s probably too radical a view for most Everythingers, though. So let’s see if we can reach a more reasonable assessment of when Everything stopped being great.