Nov 05 2001
Candy corn
Teehee, the saga of Becky’s concierge freaking out over a package of candy corn, suspecting it was anthrax, made my day. Also, the concierge must be an idiot, since anthrax is usually in powder form instead of lumpy, candy corn shaped form. I think M. Le Concierge was more nosy than worried.
I can just imagine the snotty French cop, too. Once Rufus and I lost each other in a crowd in Paris, and he went to the cops to ask for help. The cops basically told him that I had obviously dumped him for some [far more attractive] French guy, and go away. It was really hard for Rufus to resist punching the guy, but he did. And eventually he remembered the name of the hotel, got some help in working the pay phone, and called me, to my utter relief. I have to say, though, French cops have always been nice to me.
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