I have always wanted to be a secret agent! For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be James Bond. I mean…..who wouldn’t? I would love nothing more in life than to sip Martini’s (shaken, not stirred), bed beautiful women (Jane Seymore), and defeat scary bad guys (Jaws) for a living…..not to mention having the best collection of cars and gadgets known to man!!
I travel quite a bit for business (good cover, huh?), and on my last flight home the airline was screening “Goldfinger”. It is by far my favorite Bond movie, starring Sean Connery. Connery is the consummate Bond. A had a few Martini’s on the flight, and was ready to save the world by the time we arrived in New York.
I realized I had a bit of a buzz as I waited for my luggage. I was hardly intoxicated, but I was certainly feeling no pain. Aye……it’s not easy being a secret agent (inner monologue - thick Scottish brogue). It took a while for my suitcase to arrive on the carousel. To be honest, I was getting rather dizzy watching it go round and round and round again. And out of the blue, I saw her standing there.
I swear to you, on everything I hold dear, that it was her. I couldn’t begin to explain it. I had just seen her on the screen during the flight, and here she was standing beside me at the airport. It was Pussy Galore! I almost dropped my X-Ray specs!!
As Bond-like as possible, I tried to play it cool. It was imperative that I speak with her. Think about the mission. “Good evening, fair lady”, I said (again, thick Scottish brogue). She smiled and said something I cannot recall. I honestly don’t know what she said, but I am almost positive that I heard what I did.
“My name is Pussy Galore”, I heard. Obviously I responded, as coolly as possible, “I must be dreaming”. She bent over and picked her suitcase from the carousel, winked at me as she placed her business card in my hand, and strutted away. I just stood and watched as she wandered off into the crowded airport, only once looking back to smile. It all happened in slow motion. Fade to black.
I was shaken awake by the stewardess upon our arrival in New York. I must have fallen asleep, martini in hand, watching “Goldfinger”. What a strange dream! I looked all around for Ms. Galore as I waited for my luggage. I picked my Zero Halliburton aluminum suitcase, and hailed a cab. I’m sure I was being followed.
Aleister Q. Fleming never gives out his real name. Nor does he ever take the same route twice. He carries his Zero Halliburton aluminum suitcase everywhere he goes. You know how he likes his Martini’s. When he is not saving damsels in distress or driving his Aston Martin, he writes absurd articles about trivial nonsense for websites such as http://www.designerhandbags101.com – a site that offers info on http://www.designerhandbags101.com/designer-handbags/fendi.aspx>fendi handbags, http://www.designerhandbags101.com/designer-handbags/versace.aspx>Versace purses and all things http://www.designerhandbags101.com/>purses.
