No luck with the gardener lady.

So I was pretty sure I could move the beans with my gardener, who is this cute young chick that comes and handles the basic maintenance of my bloody mary vegetable beds. She's kind of intriguin', in a not-Ray's-typical-date type of way. Sorta mousy and skinny, like vegan-lookin', but with real worn-out overalls and real plain hair and Ben Franklin glasses. I don't know why that turned my motor, but I guess I'm just a sucker for the female in almost any form. She has this special quality of a real nice ass, I should mention. Despite her mad-skinny and no boobies frame, she got some phonky hippo buns jumpin' in the back of those overalls. It is crazy that a chick who is so skinny could have such a luscious-seeming ass. I guess that's one of the main deals in life, though: there is often a good surprise.

Anyhow, I managed to get up before she left one day, and I sauntered out with a nice little pitcher of mimosas and a few Atlas flutes on a wooden tray. I was all about quenching her thirst as she finished her shift, and I was decked out in a pretty fly Brooks Brothers spring tennis sweater and slacks. I was an ad, basically, for the high life. Right there by the vegetable beds. If you showed a person me, they would want the high life.

So I set it all down on the teak picnic table I had installed by the garden and sat down to light a Nat. Soon she sees me there and I wave and say "Come have a tipple with old Ray!" She stands real quiet for a few seconds, then points at a little jar of sun-tea she's got brewin' on the birdbath.

Now, I felt like she might be just feelin' shy, and not want to interact with the master of the house. I assured her it was okay to join me, wasn't no photographer watchin' in the bushes. She came over to the table real business-like and asked me what I wanted.

I am not usually accustomed to someone doing that. There was a tray of cocktails, and I was decked out, and it was a lovely springtime day, and there was a seat for her. It was like watchin' two Hydrogen molecules not bond with an Oxygen molecule. Rules just wasn't bein' followed, you know?

I could tell this was gonna be tricky, so I asked in a real polite voice that she have a seat. Any decent person has a seat when offered, right? Not this dame. She said "No thank you, I think I'll stand," and crossed her arms. What did I ever do to her? Would I act that way down at the dump co-op she lives in with a bunch of gutty old hippies and 19 year-old dudes who throw nails on the highway? You bet your ass not! Ray Smuckles is the cream. He has decency.

Since she was standin' there and it seemed like we were about to have a conversation of official sorts, I collected the situation and said that we had no choice but to let her go. She did kind of a vegan snuffle-type thing and turned and walked out. She banged the gate real hard and yelled "capitalist pig!" at me.

In my mind, as I sat there with my mimosa in my fresh-pressed sweater, I thought: if I am a pig, they why did you come and do what a pig wants. Why did you do work for me. What does that make you. If you are so principled, then why did you take bucks from a pig in order to make him happier and I suppose more pig-like. Also, I am sad I never got to press my junk between your goddess ass cheeks.

As it was, I went inside and fried up an awesome piece of leftover Easter ham and did a pretty fine Eggs Benedict with a ton of french fries on the side. My drink? You guessed it! A fine bloody mary. Life is good on my terms...that's the only way to live.