Spots and sausages

This is a secondhand story about an Englishman I wish I could meet. I don’t remember his name, so we’ll just call him Harry.

Harry was a great lover of dogs and kept company with several dachshunds and dalmatians. They had free run of his estate and he was known for frequently asking “Where are my spots and sausages? Has anyone seen my spots and sausages?”

One night, my friend Haviland (who told me these stories about Harry) was at an ambassador’s ball when a strange looking woman showed up. She was dressed impeccably, from jewels and fur to heels, but there was something slightly off about her makeup. Haviland didn’t recognize her at first, but once she spoke, he realised that she was actually Harry. He wasn’t a cross-dresser or a transvestite or gay or crazy. He just thought it would be more amusing that way. All of his friends played along and it made the entire evening more entertaining for everyone who knew Harry’s secret.

I wish I knew people like that.

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