It's all politics and "
who you know" with these kaleidoscope people, I swear. I don't know why you'd have a
special society devoted to kaleidoscope learning, but then be all snotty about who gets in.
The fact is, The Wife won that auction fair and square. The people at the Brewster Society can complain all they want about how we paid the guy who came in and Giloolied their bidder, but that's all crap. Everybody knows the Brewster Society has enemies — and a lot of 'em. In fact, I can think of at least twelve
other criminal masterminds who wanted to see that Brewster Bidder hauled out of Sotheby's into that back alley and pummeled unconscious. And it's not like he was defenseless, in any event. He had that ping-pong paddle he was raising to make the bids. He could have done some serious damage with that thing, overpowered his abductors, and got right back into the action, if he hadn't been such a stuffed shirt about the whole incident.
It's not our fault the auctioneer played through the interruption, so quit your crying and go home, you Brewster Babies, you — you —
Punky Brewsters.
And now that my elegant and lovely Wife has her prize, and the precious solid-gold diamond-encrusted Fabergé kaleidoscope you wanted so badly is sitting on
our kitchen counter next to
our Williams-Sonoma toaster, maybe you'll want to reconsider our
application for membership, you exclusive pricks.
You don't have to be a freaking aristocrat to appreciate the beauty of a kaleidoscope. Kaleidoscopes are for The People. Like it or lump it, Brewster Society — Phutatorius and The Wife have your Holy Grail in our apartment, and we're gonna let the
contractor look at it when he comes to regrout the bathtub.
