V18 N16

SHOP
SUMMER
DRESSES
at
Tommy’s Folly
Boutique
Open Daily
We are to have a birthday party,
Young Albert and I. Strictly speaking,
we do not share the same
birthday, but Young Albert is a
trusting soul, as are most dogs,
unlike cats, who, despite you feeding them every
day, and never once having poisoned them in
many years, still insist on sniffing the food
before tasting. A dog would eat a live hand grenade
if one were offered, and explode with the
same look of bemused loyalty and love in their
eyes that they have when left alone for 10 seconds.
Anyway, he loves our shared birthday. Or
at least I think he does: Yorkshire Terriers have
inscrutable faces — the same beady-eyed smirk
when looking for a biscuit as when about to leap
on one’s leg and attempt intercourse with it.
Our birthday is next month. I shall not give
away the date as yet, for it would inevitably lead
to lines forming. I think a small and understated
affair will suffice: a thousand guests, ice sculptures,
nude servers and a huge vat of molten
chocolate. But enough of Albert’s arrangements:
I prefer something a little more ostentatious.
The Old Fogey
Ah, those good old Cape May days... by Jackson D’Catur
In past years I have had the cream of society
in attendance. I remember the year Howard
Hughes attempted to land the Spruce Goose in
what he assumed was a small inshore lake but
was in fact a pool of champagne. How I laughed
as a $10,000 bubbly tidal wave engulfed Dorothy
Parker and her chattering circle.
There will be party favors: I insist on a
party bag of deepest velvet, to be handed out to
guests at midnight, as myself and Albert stroll
hand in paw around the garden in our Birthday
Best Outfits (this should not be confused with
our Birthday Suits). I usually favor something in
midnight blue woven silk, with the entire starscape
woven in with pearls and precious stones,
while Albert, in part due to dogs’ inability to see
in color, always opts for a scarlet cape, canary
yellow jacket and little green boots.
The bags sometimes contains gold
dubloons, taken from the stash of Captain Kidd,
sometimes individual pearls I captured from the
bottom of the Indian Ocean, and very occasionally
something more wicked. One year, toepopper
mines from the Vietnam jungle caused a stir.
Another time, powerful spring-loaded mousetraps
gave a delightful Tom-and-Jerry ambience
that made Young Albert laugh so much
he coughed up a squeaky toy he had eaten a
year before, while JFK toppled into the pool in
pain and surprise, followed by a score of secret
agents and a worried Marilyn Monroe.
I am off now, to create invites: I have had
an acre of gold foil delivered, and a truckload of
calligraphers flown in from Japan.
Visit us on the
Washington Sreet Mall
at the corner of
Carpenters Lane
& Perry Street
tommysfollycapemay.com
609.554.3957
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