“They’re fake,” said the Prime Minister who had a knack for appearing silently, seemingly out of the nowhere when you least expected it. With a slight gesture, a wave of the hand, he cleared the room of everyone except Tata Sous-sus. “Those beads are porcelain and I can prove it to you.”
“I’ll have you know that these pearls were a gift from my grandmother for my sixteenth birthday,” countered Tata who was in no mood to trade barbs with her perceived nemesis.
“Well, I’m sorry to report that your grandmama was duped.” Approaching Tata, the PM seized one of the white beads between his thumb and forefinger even as the strand was still wrapped around her neck. With little effort, he broke it and then beamed with self-satisfaction. “You see?” He said as he held the little pieces in front of Tata’s face for her close inspection.
Outraged at this violation of her personal space, Tata Sous-sus rose from her seat in front of the mirror, tore the offending strand from around her neck and threw it violently onto the floor. Her blood boiling with anger and hate, she began to stomp on this last gift her dear old granny had ever given her.
“What on earth are you doing!” Exclaimed the PM.
“Thanks for dispelling the last vestige of love I might have felt towards my Grandma Rambova!”
The PM rubbed his cheek, feeling as if he’d been hit in the face with a big, old, smelly fish. Did that silly old woman just say that she had a grandmother who was a Rambova? Was it possible?
Beautiful Photographs 