XVI

OH! OH! I FORGOT! ONE LAST NOTE ABOUT THE HOUSE! VERY IMPORTANT! CRUCIAL TO THE PLOT! Strangely enough, as sprawling as the house is, every single room manages to overlook the river—an enviable thing, of course. Except when it isn’t.

 

The problem? You are always being watched, see. It’s life in a fishbowl.

And the worst offender? The bane of my existence? My arch nemesis? THE BLOODY JUNGLE QUEEN! GRRRRRRRRR!

The Jungle Queen, of course, is an old-fashioned, Mississippi-style paddleboat that tours the intercoastal rivers filled with approximately two hundred sunburned Yankee tourists.

Back and forth it goes. Back and forth. Six times a day. Each and every day. Rain or shine. Hell or high water.

And the captain always announces us, always blows the horn, and the passengers are always relentless in their enthusiasm. “On your left is the historic home of the Bloom family, one of the city’s founding families, who made their fortune in BLAH BLAH BLAH . . .” And then like clockwork, two hundred tourists in flamingo sunglasses and flip-flops begin snap-snap-snapping pictures of me picking my nose in my underwear. It never fails.

BLOOM FAMILY LAW: When that happens, when you have been spotted, whatever you are doing, you must stop and acknowledge the passing guests. Sit up, smile, and wave as if it were the most thrilling part of your day. NO MATTER WHAT. Smile and wave, smile and wave, SMILE and WAVE and stand still while two hundred people take your picture without fail. They are guests in our home, after all. It’s only polite.

This can lead to some awkward moments and racy photos, as you might well imagine.

Especially at night when I’m . . . oh, say . . . A NAKED GODDESS OF DESTRUCTION who is perhaps in the process of TAPING DOWN MY NETHER REGION! . . . Or taking the chicken cutlet from my bra! . . . or shaking my naked red booty to Hilary Duff!

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

People in glass houses, huh?