Today my boss asked me if I want to meet the rich brother of a famous Italian scientist. I could tell by the look on his face that he was up to something.
Me: Why do you want me to meet him?
Boss: He’s in town for two weeks. I just thought maybe you would want to meet him.
Me: No thanks.
Boss: You might get invited to his luxurious Via Veneto Roma club party in a building that was home to the tsarist Russian Embassy. Each portion of the evening takes place in different room and there is a beautiful garden. He told me that they will dramatically bring out an 8 ft. platter that has a block of salt and a man in a uniform will hit it with a mallet and baked fish will pour out. Some of the richest people in Italy will be present.
Me: That sounds ridiculous. How many people will be there?
Boss: 30 or so. You wouldn’t have to do anything besides smile and elegantly walk in on an old guy’s arm.
Me: Are you assigning me a spy mission? If so, can I wear a wig?
Boss: No, it’s just a party.
Me: If this is a spy thing, I’m so in. When is it?
Boss: October 6th.
Me: Oh, but I will be at a wedding in Ireland that day.
Boss: With who?
Me: A boy. I don’t know him very well, but he is tall and British and he has pretty eyes. He could be a spy, too. And I like the way he says “monkey.” We will collaborate with the British!
Then I showed him the pretty eyes because I’m a girl and that’s what we do:
Boss: He does have nice eyes, doesn’t he? I bet you will collaborate.
Me: Yep, so let me know if you need two spies.
Boss: Are you going to tell him you signed him up for a make-believe spy mission?
Me: Yes. Will there be cigars and bourbon?
Boss: Yes, after dinner. Will he be into that?
Me: I don’t know, but I’m into that.
Boss: You’re an odd young lady.
Me: Thank you.