My sweet little gran-mire is 94 Years old.
She still works, as the chairwoman of the family trust
- you can call her “Godfather.”
The “frail old lady” is a humorous disguise she dons
to bamboozle the unwitting - think tiger stripes.
Don’t be fooled, or lulled and don’t ever try to BS her.
The business cosmos wheels behind those eyes.
Her heart was replaced with an abacus, centuries ago.
She’s met everyone in the world who matters.
She has body guards and minions.
Tonight there’s a small birthday party
at the Musée Marmottan Monet (museum) in Paris.
When she comes in, the 40 or so guests formed
an impromptu receiving line - so I queued up too.
Stewards regularly pass and I manage to gulp down
two flûtes of champagne while on line (I LOVE Paris).
This has the makings of a great party.
Finally, it was my turn. we cheek kissed (fait la bise).
I took her small, gloved hand in mine
and it struck me that little white gloves are genius.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I said
inching closer because the music was loud,
“Nothing tops a big-budget party.” I said.
“We agree.” she said with a nod.
“Happy Birthday.” I mouthe.
We la bise again and I moved on so the conga-line could progress.
Ooo! Another steward!
Imagine what all you could experience in 94 years.
