for Mrs. Rowan. Finally, she would be able to eat something. The day had started out with a charity function - to which the Rowan's had arrived in the nick of time. Traffic issues. So, stopping for breakfast, had been tabled. Next on tap, had been a campaign function, with a reception following. But before she'd the opportunity to give her robust teutonic frame alittle something from the table - atleast one or two of the little sandwiches - the news people were on her like saran wrap.
A family-focus piece. The Rowan's forth son had been awarded, by the same prestegous university her brother, a prince of ... a minor European nation. Martha just stood there, being pelted with questions, as her Husband proudly grinned - as if he was the center of attention. Through it all, she was only able to steal a quick glance at one of the heaping plates.
Just one little sandwich, that's all, just one!
The interview, finally over, her husband's fleshy paw, nudged - no, more like pushed - her from the hall, to their next stop, where another meeting was to take place. And there, another reception table, had beckoned. But that meeting, being of a lesser priority, the couple wasn't staying to enjoy any of the refreshments.
With buffet plate in one hand, Martha reached for one of the hot-plate spoons. Small red potatoes a sauce of onion and various herbs. Another hot-plate contained a lovely mix of snow-peas and almonds, which had been baked in a sauce containing...well, Martha wasn't sure, but it looked appetizing. Her husband's focus was upon the beef being cut at the entree line's end. He "nudged" his wife to move it along. The Senator's plate was already filled with chicken, sausage, a big scoop of mashed potatoes, peas, two rolls, and something else.
Oh my, Martha smiled upon seeing a plate of little turnovers containing shrimp and some sort of cheese. She placed two of these alongside the mix of broccoli and mushroom. Oh my goodness, there sat a tray of ... she reached for one. As she reached for the second small morsel, her husband's lips whispered in her ear - something related to a nearby plate of wrapped sausages - while his paw, innapropriately, brushed up against her.
Martha bit her lip. A nearby snicker meant the comment had been overheard. Jerk! Sometimes, just once, she'd like to just turn around and smack him a good one - and one for dufus too. But Earl Rowan was the sort to smack back - harder. So, that wasn't going to happen again, anytime soon.
At the beautifully set table, Earl dug into his heaping plate. As the plate servings shrank, being relocated into stomachs, the conversations grew. Earl was in his glory, boasting - sometumes, with his mouth half full... ugh - the accomplishments of "My" sons; as if, he made it all happen on his own. As for the couple's two daughters...well, Dear Reader, we know that drill: their sole purpose in life, being to marry and crank out grandbabies. Like the three, two from one son, and the youngest from another, wasn't enough, for now?
Earl's cell buzzed, he retrieved it from his suit-coat pocket. The senator arose, "Gentlemen - and ladies - please excuse me for a moment." Earl didn't read the text as he made his way from the room. He simply deleted it. The nerve, that "that" would even think...give a girl a few roses, and the little tramp gets ideas. He took an available seat in the convention center's lobby, where he sent a brief text to Abigail - his HR point of contact; the effective date being Tuesday morning, the day after the labor day holiday.
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