UNDERSTANDING THE WINDSOR K(NOT)
(I love the way he expresses himself.
But did you hear what he was saying?
Yes but do you like it?
She really stands out in a crowd.
Yes, but have you met her?)
He was a quiet one; yes he was; always alert to solutions to the many problems of a given day, an inventor on the lookout for a better way to get a desired result in less time; here a tweak, there a tweak, everywhere a tweak-tweak…
And then Bruno met Tap (short for Tapioca).
To bed and beyond, his moments of studious repose now naught but a memoir, his lab rats mere pets and his need for intellectual stimulation limited to thirty ways to tie a knot in the silk appendage now dangling daily from the collar of his Savile Rowe shirt, Bruno looked around the gallery one last time and vowed to change his name, arresting his quest for the old life.
He would abandon all and become Rupert the Right.
Goodbye Tapi Dear, here; you may have this as a memoir. Unbuttoning his collar brought a sigh that became a gasp as his lungs inflated with the promise of freedom and new frontiers; “Here is my tie with the Windsor Knot; the knot is naught but a naughty memoir. Keep it” he said. “Hang it on the bed post” he added.” And Rupert nee Bruno, once left (now right) went shopping.
Warning: Reading between the lines may produce astigmatism.