Tuesday and the Queen
6:28 a.m. The Queen stirs. The curtains to her bed open and there is her batman, Gibbs. “Ma’am?”
“I think I should like to draw some tea. Gibbs.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Gibbs goes to prepare the tea. He returns.
“Gibbs, two cubes, please don’t tell me there was only one.”
“No, m’aam. But I forgot how to place the apostrophe.”
“How careless of you, Gibbs.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, Gibbs?”
“You have 73 appointments today. After your bath there is the king of Norway . . .”
“Gibbs?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Cancel all appointments till the martini at five, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Gibbs.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is there nothing we can’t do today?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are there colonies we must administer?”
“No, ma’am.”
“What about Bates? What is he doing today?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Well (exasperated tone) isn’t there someone we can knight, Gibbs? Get on with it.”
“I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am. But ma’am . . .”
“Yes, Gibbs?”
“Ma’am, Tiger Woods would be a good candidate today, ma’am.”
“Spider Woods? Who on Earth is that?”
“The golf prodigy, ma’am . . .”
“Oh, yes, well, get the sword and we’ll knight him at 4:30 sharp. Then call Bates and have that martini . . .”
“Oh, and, Gibbs . . .”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Was he nude? Did the court really block the nude Spider Woods photos?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am.”
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