Lisa's Yarn

Let me bloviate thee a yarn by recounting the handiwork of another visitor to the big cave known by the sobriquet Pulchritudinous Lisa. It could only have been mischance that led me to seek shelter from the elements on that particular eve, the exact same eve She had decided to descend upon the big cave. Sweet and innocent was the face she showed to the world, but within beat the heart of a farceur. She was made know to the habitués by one of the lackeys, one of those who attend to the needs of visiting potentates and is a familiar sight. In a mendacity of galactic proportion all of the visitants were led to believe the She was a gentle and well intentioned young woman, fresh to the moil of servitude in the cave.

As fate would have it, it befell me to be the one to unmask this blackguard’s dastardly facets, to my woe. Now one of the little caves off of the big cave has a stream of falling water that is used for bathing since in an enclosed area such as the big cave, a pungent aroma makes for bad bedfellows. One of the duties of the attendants is to hand out lengths of dry goods, with which those who have chosen to bathe may dehydrate themselves after they cleanse.

So it came to pass that I had received a ‘towel’ from this she-wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing. It was not until I finished my ablutions that I realized the extent of her perfidy. You need to know I have a substantial mortal coil, more along the lines of a percheron as opposed to a thoroughbred. What did I discover as I stepped from the shower and prepared to dry myself off? That that harlequin dubbed Lisa had given me a drying wipe the size of a handkerchief. A tiny mote of textile to endeavor to attain a modicum of non-wetness, and when confronted with her perfidy She put on such an innocent face.

So remember: beauty is only skin deep and that sweet innocence may cover the heart of a mountebank.