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06-12-03, for Souvie
Marrying Intellect to Style
She stands on the stage, squinting slightly against the harsh glare of the white spotlight illuminating what is supposed to be a casual, comfortable setting. But it's not. Not tonight.
Nope. Tonight the stage at La Taverna has taken on a decidedly uncomfortable, formal, academic air. Gone are the well-worn stool and scuffed wooden floorboards. They've been replaced with a fancy, acrylic podium (acrylic? See-through? Geesh, leave it to these folks to remove any sense of decency and decorum) and a long red carpet.
Your Nymph appears somewhat uncomfortable, yet again clad in black robes (which, although appropriate to the occasions, are creasing her delicate wings). Atop her head is a black mortar board complete with tassels (and when was the last time this bar saw a woman wearing tassels on her head?).
She climbs atop the footstool thoughtfully placed behind the podium and opens the leather folder in her hands. Giving the paper in front of her a brief glance, she begins.
“<ahem>
“Ladies and Gentlemen. Writers and readers. Drinkers and non-drinkers. I am honored to be standing before you tonight to share a very special birthday announcement. In honor of the birthday girl's recent acquisition of the status of College Graduate Woman of Letters, I shall do my best to raise the bar, to bring the content of this greeting up to a standard worthy of such an accomplished woman.
“So, Souvie…
“Happy,” A whispered voice from off stage is heard, mockingly repeating, “happy? That's the best you can do?” Your Nymph throws a dark glance towards the wings, clears her throat, and starts again.
“Dear Souvie ~ Blissful birthday greetings,”
Again, the mocking voice, “greetings? What is this, a Star Trek convention?”
“Fine. Hush now.”
“Dear Souvie ~ Blissful birthday salutations are hereby extended from us to you. May you find yourself confident in the knowledge that, as you age…”
She's interrupted yet again from the wings, “Age! Anyone can say, ‘age.' Where did you learn to speak? Kindergarten?”
Our Nymph is visibly frustrated by now, but being the trooper that she is, she squares her shoulders and continues.
“Dear Souvie ~ Blissful birthday salutations are hereby extended from us to you. May you find yourself confident in the knowledge that, as you maturate, you become more and more beautiful…”
“Beautiful?” Can't we do better than simply ‘beautiful'?“
<sigh>
“Dearest Souvie ~ Blissful birthday salutations are hereby extended from us to you. May you find yourself confident in the knowledge that as you maturate you become exceedingly more picturesque to those who know and love you.”
She takes a deep breath and continues, quickly, before she can be again interrupted.
“Please allow us to help you mark the passage of another year. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five days that contain never-to-be-forgotten milestones in your life. Graduation, engagement, an anticipated and upcoming move. A birthday means so much more than simply the remembering of a day.”
“Thank you, Dear Souvie, for allowing us to share in the joyous milestones in your life. This birthday being merely the latest of many. And may there be many, many more.”
“Happy Birthday, Souvie.”
Our Nymph steps delicately from the stepstool and moves away from the podium, unzipping the robe and freeing her wings from their confinement as she heads towards stage left. With one last shake of her shoulders she drops the robe to the floor. She takes the mortarboard from her head, and, as she disappears behind the heavy velvet curtain, the patrons can hear the unmistakable sound of her beating the offending heckler about the head and chest with the leather portfolio.
