Day 4

re: Bagel-in-the-Bare®

08.23 After devouring my left deltoid

Subject: You are a genius!

Dearest Darling Forsythia,


The tenor of your genius is awesome! Deliciously, scrumptiously, awesome – as well as completely awful (to give the word its correct usage). I am in awe. Filled with awe. Fucking awe-struck!!! Methinks a New Corporate Empire has been launched. Yes, indeed, my dearest, darling, fragrant Forsythia, mother of the dazzling Marjorie Bumble, daughter of the dubious Mumsy and Sudsy (not that you in any way bear responsibility for that fiasco), you have well and truly gone and done it!

Ah, but first, before we proceed with the nitty-gritty, I must leapfrog to the divine realm, by which I mean marketing. And, in particular, that which – for the millions and billions of blessed unwashed with far too much discretionary income - epitomises the brand. In short, the logo. It occurred to me that, design-wise, we might consider regressing to the imaginary Victorian childhood that both of missed out on, and borrow heart-wrenching themes from the pre-Raphaelites, as well as sprinkles of arch-gothic and art nouveau, and co-mingle the diverse elements intone great, über-romantic pastiche. As a starting point, why not picture the figure of a cherub leaping over the full moon? Only, instead of the moon, we substitute intertwined and intertwining bagels. Or, better yet, we bring back the cow (only a nice, round sympathetic cow, with all its warm and fuzzy qualities, but with the much cuter body of a pig), and have it jumping over a highly polished and sophisticated bagel (please forgive me if I repeat myself, but I am excited) disguised as (wait for it) the moon. But, but… and get this, instead of an actual cow or even an idealised one, we base the figure on that of your beloved Mumsy. Naked and unadorned, all pink and rosy, with hair streaming out behind. Perhaps with tiny, gilded wings. And golden slippers or strapless pumps. You must remember: good taste never got anybody rich.

I suggest you take a few minutes and lie back and reflect upon my idea. No knee-jerk reactions, please.

And while you are considering your options, will you please peruse your address book and come up with some composer or other who might be able to come up with a catchy tune? Nothing too subtle or reminiscent of posies in spring or gentle sprinkles. As you know, I’m not in favour of posies in spring, on top of which they are commercially abhorrent.

Thank you by the way for sending me Pickles O’Day’s email address. I’d quite forgotten she existed, having expunged her from my memory bank following that dreadful and embarrassing incident at Longchamps, when she mounted the favourite for the paparazzi and broke its back. However, I do understand how useful she might be to us, now that her fourteenth paramour has expired and left her with many more castles than she can possibly use. The news of her various advancements and doings are quite amazing, are they not? In (I hasten to add) a depressing sort of way. To think that some people actually have to work for years and years, and yet still cannot manage to add so much as a single crenulated tower to their studio apartment! What an inspiration she must be to them. But, never mind the hoi polloi. I’m sure you didn’t remember dear Pickles without a reason. Were you, perhaps, thinking about her in monetary terms? Do you think she might be interested in making a substantial investment in our modest enterprise? Should we entrust her with our secret plans? Is she any good at organising corporate and bureaucratic labyrinths and actually getting things done? Has she ever planned a direct-mail competition or owned a sweatshop or boiler room? Does she own a set of whips?

Please advise me as soon as possible.

PS. I’m suffering severe cramps in my exposed foot. Would you please visualise it surrounded by happy guppies or something? I’ve run out of ideas as far as alternative therapies are concerned.


***

10.57 After Nibbling my Left Testicle
Subject: I ADORE YOU!

Dearest Darling Forsythia


Now, Down to the Nitty Gritty!!!!!

And yes indeed, what about our logo?

An interesting idea, yours, to locate a petting zoo at each Bagel-in-the-Bare® outlet, as sort of a “pet our logo” attraction and (shall we say “off the record”) sales gimmick. Anything to promote the bottom line, and it’s no good pretending otherwise – nothing is more tedious than business disguised as altruism. And about your beloved Mumsy, are you sure she won’t really mind having her image plastered all over the world? It was subtle of you, offering to pay all her future air fares and two lunches a month, plus all the day-old bagels she can eat – I was at a loss to understand why you restricted your generosity to anchovy and pineapple bagel-balls, but I can only conclude that your research points to that particular delicacy being among most mediocre sellers. If that is the case, I agree you would not want Mumsy consuming your profits.

In any event, considering what she owes you for having chosen her womb as an incubator, she should be thrilled at having her whale-like aspect, with wings appended (which is better than she’ll get when she finally makes her triumphant exit from this world), used to earn her daughter many millions of euros. Do you think that she’ll notice how you airbrushed her features? Does she expect a pink and sparkling cherub to have the face of a hag?

But enough of her – at least until the next time. I’ve been thinking, shouldn’t the petting zoos be ever so carefully (“accidentally” is actually the more appropriate word and the one I was looking for) placed on adjoining property (i.e., land belonging to someone else)? That way, should there be objections raised by petty local communes, it won’t be us who are fined or taken to court. We certainly do not want our reputation to be the ones to be sullied, should things go wrong, and I doubt if any of our “neighbours” will mind being inconvenienced or having their names dragged through the mud. At least not after we surreptitiously bribe them and put it about that it had been their idea in the first place. Or something like that. I’m sure you can arrange to have it put into more suitable, i.e., legal, language. Wouldn’t want our scheme to sound gauche, would we?

Please do not misunderstand about beautiful song. While I do appreciate your enthusiasm, I’m not sure if I should encourage your determination to have your sweet daughter’s tiny body covered with obscure tribal designs or inessential piercings in tribute of my compositional genius. Have you asked your husband? I realise Whatisname is broadminded, but is he thick as well? Best not answer that – please forget I asked.
***

15.42 So hungry I could eat my own intestinal filling
Subject: Tomorrow

Dearest Darling Forsythia


Next week is of the greatest concern to me. It will be April Fool’s Day, and I dread to think how the idiot squatters currently playing cuddly-wuddlies on my Miyake sheets and befouling my Limoges and marble facilities might celebrate. Mind you, so far, everything has been fairly low key, and I’m hoping that is a good sign. On the downside, they seem to prefer the mellow world of cannabis-encrusted haze. My clothes reek of the stuff, and I spend a great deal of time tying not to vomit. I was never much good at handling life-enhancing substances. Could you please sending an attachment containing aspirin and eye drops (preferably one formulated for blue eyes)?

Now, for a corporate matter that begs immediate attention. It has occurred to me that nude dancing to our band, The Thirteen Klezmer Bagels, could result is severe damage to essential appendages. Three possible solutions: (1) Designer Bagel Dancewear, or (2) we purchase the controlling interest in National Truss and Bra, Ltd, or (3) perhaps we should exclude all musicians over eighty-five. Oldies might play better, but from an aesthetic and business standpoint, wouldn’t they discourage sales as far as the younger set are? Bagel-In-The-Bare® is an eatery, after all, and not every one of our outlets will be located in Eastbourne.

Your opinion is being solicited.
PS. Think Reality TV show. Possibilities? Get your brain working. I think it used to be a sharper instrument. Do you think having so many children had something to do with it?
***
16.04 Dreaming of Colostomy Cream Beignets
Subject: Your letter


Dearest Darling Forsythia,


May I suggest that you invest in either a more effective spell-check or a secretary? I am not entirely sure what it was you were trying to tell me in your last letter. This is happening with alarming frequency, and appears to be getting worse. I find it extremely vexing, and I almost wish I could reach out and box your ears.

By all means offer Pickles O’Day the position of Director of Marketing. However, please emphasize that, whereas her title shall have the equivalent of either a vice-presidency or vice-admiralty, a proximity to God is out of the question – as is a salary, at least until such time as she proves her worth. After a couple of years, in the fullness of time and all things being equal, we shall request that she submit her salary demands in writing (in triplicate, of course), but only after she has bathed and done something about her hair.

If you think it’s wise and if she so chooses, she may write to me directly. I find I am hampered by a certain immobility, living as I am within my hard drive, and am forced to be more reasonable than would otherwise be necessity.

If I understood you correctly, which is not altogether certain, your communiqué seemed overly preoccupied about dangerous substances. Am I to gather that you were commenting on my new tenants, or was it to do with your own lifestyle? If it is the former, may I remind you that you are not acquainted with them? Where the fuck did you acquire such intimate knowledge of the societal pressures constricting their bowels. Conversely, if you were nattering on about your own condition – as if you were the first woman ever to have a baby – I bloody well hope you learned from the last go-around and are not, this time, inhaling nappy contents. If you are, may I recommend counselling? It has been proven successful at various times in the course of human history.

Today has been quiet, with only the odd snoring sounds coming from the bedroom. If only I could catch their attention, I would ask for one of their peanut butter sandwiches. Being American – I discovered through diligent eavesdropping they hail from that more primitive side of the Atlantic – they eat rather a lot of that odoriferous substance. If I became enamoured of it, would it constrict my bowels? And would I immediately balloon up to one of those Texas sizes, XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXL, and be required me to move into a more commodious house?
***

23.31 Having digested my right index finger, feeling refreshed
Subject: Slogans

Dearest Darling Forsythia


Your attempts at sloganeering are admirable, if misguided and more than a little unfortunate. And while I’m in a critical mode, may I say I’m not altogether sold on the concept of “Sphincter Sunshine Specials”. Have you thought of public backlash? I was going to mention the dreaded “T” word. You remember them, don’t you? The tabloids? Have you forgotten last year, when you adopted the Freedom Fanny movement as your charity and, thanks to unwanted media interest, lost many of your more lucrative [and conservative] clients)? Of course, you might not have the same problem this time around. Given that tabloid readers are rarely capable of words of even one syllable, you might be safe. But is it worth taking the chance? Perhaps the next time you are tempted by the muse of creation, you should leave the gin bottle in the cupboard.

With regards Pickles O’Day’s corporate affairs. May I reiterate (or not, just in case I didn’t mention it before), she may do as she wills on her own time, providing that her actions do not reflect badly on Bagel-in-the-Bare®. Nude posters of her in the metro are not necessarily undesirable, but shall we withhold judgment (or fulsome praise) until after the monthly sales figures are in? You be the judge.

With regards also (yes, I’m a busy boy, aren’t I?) to our corporate mandate, I suggest we be refreshingly liberal as to quantity, but severely conservative where quality is concerned. And, lest you be overly fretful, we must worry about where to draw the line when it comes to flavours and varieties (packaging, as well, but that is for another day). Might I suggest that Giant Guppy and Fromage de Choucroute® represents the outer edge of the envelope? Would that allow us sufficient room in with to romp? Please, please, I crave your innermost feelings.

PS. There was this guy who needed his watch repaired, and he sees a shop with a large clock over the door. So he goes in and asks if he could have his watch seen to. The man behind the counter says no, he can’t do anything about it.

“Why not,” asks the customer. “Isn’t this a watch repair shop?”

“No,” replies the owner. “I’m a mohel.”

“Then why do you have a big watch over the door?”

The owner looks at him thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Nu, and what should I have put there?”