"You have the touch!" All the rest may as well be gibberish. Sure, "King of Fashion" tries to rear its head from time to time, but I have an army of yes-men trained to kill THAT hideous checked flannelette monstrosity.

It's all in the branding. Of course, you won't see "He's got the touch" on a billboard or on TV. No, its a secret, or that's what a select few people think.

The REAL secret is, of course, that it's all in the branding. "I've got the touch"... whisper it, my babies. Not simply the image but The Image. The slogans for my fashion label might change three times a year, but when I'm selling ME, I've always "got the touch".

Take "Sicile", for instance. Poor thin Judy Atwood. I caught her with a three-inch Martini stirrer down her throat spewing up celery like some weird dragon. Celery, for crissakes. My in-house surgeon d'plastic tells me that eating celery uses up more calories than you gain from the celery itself, and here is poor bloody Judy Atwood (sorry.. "Sicile") disgorging it into a top-of-the-range Royal Doulton like it was chocolate mud cake.

For most people, a tap on the shoulder is a bad thing, but when my finger brushed her shoulder (shoulder blade, actually, hunched over the ceramic as the poor bony thing was) I knew that she was worth her weight in gold. A few rumours discreetly leaked to the better fashion magazines (who of course reported the rumours with a very discreet euphemism), followed up by "bulimia SHOCK!" in the supermarket tabloids ensured that "Sicile" took "bulimia chic" to a new level.

What did my shareholders whisper knowingly to each other as I reported our fourth quarter profits? "He's got the touch".

I have had to stop eating when other people are around, of course - we can't taint the branding. Unfortunately there are always other people around - except my daughter. I often think of the last time I saw her, just after her 20th birthday. I caught her sneaking a bite of her birthday cake - caramel, her favourite. After a terrible argument about how she was sabotaging my business by eating in public, I brushed a tear from her cheek. She stiffened and was silent. I walked away, thinking she would follow me... but she never did.

Of course, she is more valuable to me than ever, now. Her "confessions" of our terrible home life, my "abuse" of her... have all ensured that the launch of her own fashion label was a fantastic success.

Of course, we can't talk or even see each other now, but I can watch her career advancing on the chat shows. That's just as as good for me.

As good as gold.

Mi"das (?), n. [So called from L. Midas, a man fabled to have had ass's ears.] Zool.

A genus of longeared South American monkeys, including numerous species of marmosets. See Marmoset.


© Webster 1913.

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