The Princess' Guest Relations

Threatening wet weather conditions pulled everything off the turf swamping the shore oval’s holiday activities. Despite the deplorable dismal dilemma, Princess Gladys, a Garden Stateswoman, woke up a winner claiming finding a gold stamp attached to a special invitation envelope placed secretly by anonymous source. Claiming out of the money status her sidekick Taprixie, who usually writes for the Betmakers, the monarch madame's favorite bookie, presented Pat’s chrome compass, which always showed the proper direction when entertaining fast track activities.

Once, forgetting it was Michael Reddington’s birthday, Princess Gladys returned to her early afternoon two martini winning celebration, moving on, not giving any notice concerning the absent gift giving presentation. While enjoying the happy hour spirit, a maiden with special weight entered, “And who are you?”

“A maiden with special weight and I am here to do a show with your artist Olatz,”

“Oh, yeah, Olatz,” Princess Gladys remembered, “Olatz, your maiden with special weight is here, take her to your chamber studio place and paynter pretty.”

“Yes, my Princess,” Olatz retorted escorting the maiden with special weight, encouraging Princess Gladys to continue sipping. Realizing her beverage was no longer a maiden with special weight, instead, a soothing three-shot rum runner sedative.

When things quieted Princess Gladys reengaged with the buffet table noticing a showing of mya papaya appetizers, packaging sloppy and sealed, “what happened?” Princess Gladys sounded angry. Suddenly, appearing due to the starting gate popping open, another player, a southern lady entered the place, “I am just presenting a juicy entree with mya papaya,” the American winner from Alta Avenue declared.

“Will it go better with vino?” Princess Gladys inquired.

“Yeah, but it will put you out of the money,” the southern lady claimed.

“I know I would be out of the money, but the engagement would be a special affair,” Princess Gladys blushed before claiming something in French, “Allons, let's go I want to show you something.”

Figuring, Princess Gladys was a beautiful bot for a second energizing the place, the southern lady followed, “check this out,” the monarchy mainstay stated, “this is my winning sofster program.”

Perfect for any Italian winning tifosi, filled with statistics and information, the sports fan hotspot can perform miracles, creating intelligent spoken loyal customers, challenging any bet maker's purse.

“You know, southern lady, it is my noble heritage within a second, to carry on a conversation about any subject matter,” Princess Gladys mentioned.

“Are you sure you are not looking for mo action? And just putting on a show?” Questioned the southern lady.

Reality distanced the privileged character from any throne settings and being off her turf; everything seemed sloppy and sealed, needing commoners' aggressive watch dog's attention.

Conveniently, the phone rang, “yes,” Princess Gladys greeted, “it's my memoir ghost writer, a maiden with special weight, and out of the money.”

“I know I am a maiden with special weight,” the receiver answered, “the way my other author Monmouth bets, you would be surprised anything is in the purse.”

“What book is Monmouth writing?”

“Believe it or not within a second, Monmouth recorded Audible Johnny, and it can be found as a literary winner at the Regents Park bookstore,”

“Really,” Princess Gladys acted impress, “do I know this, Johnny?”

Scene went silent until Princess Gladys heard, “you were bar stool guarding one night and put on what you deemed a tipsy mojo show, a choreographed vintage wiz routine that put you out of the money.”

“And nearly imprisoned,” Princess Gladys recollected, “and as for Johnny.”

“AKA Taprixie, he is very talkative these days,” the ghost writer reported, while the southern lady snuck out the back door.