His breath stank of mold, refused the apéritif, and tried to keep his silverware…

I have an outstanding chef. Twice a month, she will command the staff of my home in producing a meal to which I invite only my closest and most dear amitiés. My request in this time of cold and frost, was a feast of wild game.
It was my response to the season,… hearty drink, rich meat, with dense desserts and breads.

Chef Suzanne responded in a manner by which only the most talented can suppose. She went out beyond the grounds, and culled two turkeys, in December no less! The sight of one of the wild birds on the roti nearly had me in tears. Aside from the turkey, she added a game pie of partridge and hare. Everything wild caught. Everything prepared to allow the guests to experience rendered flavors from the wilds and the woods.

The promise of a fine evening was never in doubt, until he walked in…

As guests entered the foyer, I could hear him over the din of the other guests. He was expressing his excitement for the Superbowl halftime show. My assumption was that he was burdened with a disabled capacity and possibly deformed en visage. Yet as coats were being taken, one of my staff warned me to not stare. His altered features made it impossible to look away. I doubt his Maker would even recognize him. Inspiration for his lip injections must have been drawn from the long departed hadrosaurs, and the skin of his face was pulled so tightly it created a tilt of his eyes allowing him to be mistaken as Fujiwara.

He was in my home, so I introduced myself and welcomed him.

His breath and his corduroy jacket stank of mold. I offered him an apéritif, which he refused, and then introduced himself… as Merlton Raxby. I allowed him to speak and fully converse with the guests as we moved to the table. Every discussion he initiated was outside the constraints of good taste. He kept asking for something sweet and bubbly. His exact quote “I want some champy pink like candy and bubblin’ like a hot tub”…

Merlton began to discuss the fortune his brother married into, and how he was born to enjoy the finer things. That’s when he was seen pocketing a demitasse spoon and asked me if I would give him one of my grandmother’s cordial glasses.
So, I quickly stood and asked him to find a seat in the staff kitchen. Off he went voluntarily and completely content. I directed him to stay out of the way as the courses were plated.
Chef Suzanne ended the meal after I sopped my doll in the gravy of the game pie.
She brought out a tarte aux amandes and I had almost forgotten about Merlton Raxby… almost. I didn’t see him leave, but I heard him talking with the staff returning his coat,..
“Next time – maybe this lady cook might broast a beer chicken, really, a chicken in the oven with a can of beer, I wouldn’t lie!”
No Merlton, you would not lie.

The Viceroy