***
Saturday, I have Douglas clean extensively and prepare hors d’oeuvres. At about 3:00 I return him to the spare bedroom, restraining him as always in his many Segufix cuffs and straps.
Wine and a travel magazine occupy my mind, spurring a thought, perhaps someday I will take Douglas on a cruise.
The doorbell rings near 4:00 p.m. Through the peephole I spy the alluring Ann Cromwell offering a wave. I open and welcome.
“Not sure why I bother keeping the door locked,” I quip.
To the living room, I find the dreary task of serving is now mine. I miss my naked servants already.
Wine, cheese and crackers to start, small talk ensues, though in knowing that Ms. Cromwell is one of us, I suspect she will quickly become direct, and she does.
“I’m afraid we’ve had the temerity to monitor your
