129 Embracing the hate

“Mademoiselle Tedd!” a woman calls, mispronouncing her name, but she lets it slide, hoping it was merely the accent. Monica loo6k over to see the woman with the dead cat on her head, although as she approaches, she thinks it’s faux fur. Either that, or a badly stuffed mongoose. “What a delightful set!” “Mille merci,” Monica replies, dipping her chin deferentially. After all, sucking

up is part of the job. “I am glad you enjoyed it.” She considers asking her name, maybe taking the chance to correct her on her own, but it feels like she was already supposed to know who she was. “That first piece? Tres magnifique,” Dead Cat Lady says dramatically, kissing her fingertips in a ‘chef’s kiss’ move. “Shame about the last, though. The model . . . like one of your American biscuit tubes. Pop!” She puffs her cheeks out, her eyes wide and her hands making an explosion-type movement. Is she serious? Is she talking about canned biscuits? She cannot be implying that Jeanette is fat, right? Monica me