enid doesn’t like them. no, really, she doesn’t like them at all - they don’t seem to be the place to meet interesting people, have a good intellectual discussion, or be silly and have a laugh, but rather to posture and pose.
yesterday’s visitor’s real name was dick; he must have had remarkably perceptive parents. dick is the millionaire ceo of a huge american company, and has about 43 big screen plasma tvs, which he described in detail - their sizes, their pixel resolution, their hd-readiness. then he moved onto his pool house, its fridge, its plasma tv, and the number of square feet it is in area.
“that’s bigger than my flat,” said enid, who had no idea if it was really because her flat is metric.
to be fair to the people from the man’s company, she didn’t think they enjoyed the stream of consciousness boasting either. tim, next to enid, pointed out that he had much higher resolution pictures in his house - he called it a book. bevin insisted on calling the pool house “the tool house”. considering that the man’s company was supposed to be giving this visitor the red carpet, enid was refreshed by everyone’s frankness.
there was little to do but concentrate on the food and wine. enid ate too much of the former and drank too much of the latter. her main course was a dish of bull’s testicles (don’t worry, although testicles seem to be becoming a theme of this blog, enid assures you that she isn’t obsessed by them). when it arrived, the gonads were surprisingly small in diameter.
“are those really from a bull?” she asked.
“hmm,” replied tim. “in that bullfight, it looks as if the bull won.”