Burgeoning

I find the servants here at the palace are a bit unskilled (I dare say even clumsy), but they were already employed by the estate when I arrived, so I just will have to make do. Usually I tend not to notice the help, as they should always be invisible to me (which is how I prefer it). But there is one in particular who stands out, and not, mind you, for her extreme talents.

She is a plump, jolly woman of sorts. From what I have been able to decipher, her name is “Burgeoning,” which is an odd name but I figure it suits her if one is referring to her ever-expanding britches. She talks rather manically and her attempt at song is as irritating as the shrill squeal of the neighborhood cats. But Burgeoning seems to have a good heart. Sometimes she feeds me, brings me water and even scratches my head when feeling rather emboldened on the days she gets paid her pithy allowance of shillings. I amaze myself that I have allowed her to touch me, but the tropical heat has a rather strange effect on one’s senses, so every so often I will succumb to a good rub on the scalp. When I prefer not to be bothered, I will don a pair of darkened spectacles to ward off her nonsensical advances. But spectacles or not, the servants know full well not to make eye contact with their king.