“Yeah love, Monica was hiding at my house in Cape Cod four days after the impeachment,” says Australian artisan olive oil peddler who is either a pathological liar or delusional psycho.
My husband and I were visiting my in-laws in St. Augustine. Since we had a few kid-free hours, we did what any yuppie couple in a vacation town does; get drunk and go gourmet food store hopping.
Moscow mules at this bar here, a fancy jam store there. A blackberry bramble here, handmade chocolates there. Kir Royale here flavored balsamic vinegar store there.
Specialty olive oil and balsamic vinegar stores; if you like to see members of the upper middle class having an existential crisis, you could do worse.
While in line, I saw one of the sales people making a huge salad and putting some Blueberry balsamic on it. Preparing foods for visitors isn’t new. He saw me watching and offered me a lettuce leaf. Of course, I stuck my finger right into the bowl and took one because I’m polite. It turns out the Aussie was even more polite because it was his salad that he was about to eat for lunch.
We bonded over the laughs at my embarrassment and quickly learned this guy was an ex-pat from Brisbane Australia, gay, owned tons of sports cars, has a son named Dylan graduating from Princeton going to work for Bain Capital and has a brother-in-law in the jewelry business. The Man from Oz also tried to sell us his Cape Cod home in Truro for 3.5 million.
He also told us he was a confidant of the DuPont family and confirmed rumors of incest and inbreeding.
He claimed that one of the elder matriarchs got drunk and told him that a family member buried a secret daughter born with genetic mutations and intellectual disability alive.
Merely gave the twelve-year-old some sedatives and put her in the mausoleum. The Man from Oz scraped the wood counter with his nails to illustrate what the poor girl probably did when she woke up in the coffin.
He also said that the DuPont’s have a family-only hospital. It’s exclusive not because they want to keep others out, but to keep their inbreds locked in.
He told me to google it; I wouldn’t find anything about it. How convenient.
All this to strangers in a five-minute conversation.
These olive oil and vinegar bottles are expensive compared to grocery store brands. As we were paying, my husband joked that we needed an advance on “my book” to pay for our Lavender balsamic habit. “That” book is now this blog.
The Man from Oz asked me what my book was about and then dropped a bombshell; that he was tight with Lady Monica. He said that he waited on her in a small café when the scandal was starting to make headlines.
Not wanting to be recognized she introduced herself as Lisa. He said, “Ok Monica. What would you like to eat?” A lifelong friendship was born. After the impeachment, she wanted to hide and guess what? Lady Monica stayed at his 3.5 million dollar Cape Cod estate.
Talking money is tacky, but his whole situation begs the question: Why was he working as a waiter or selling olive oil?
Still, this guy should have been selling snake oil instead of olive. I thought about giving him my information and telling him to have his bestie Lady Monica contact me. I didn’t have the balls.
The Man from Oz was getting shade thrown at him by his boss, so he gave us hugs and kisses and told us he had to get back to work. We left and took a walk to clear our heads. The Man from Oz took up all the oxygen in the room, we needed to breathe.
A couple minutes and a beer later, we realized this all had to be bullshit.
We got out our iPhones and searched for a house matching the description he gave us for sale in Cape Cod. We didn’t find anything. DuPonts, Lady Monica; I bet he didn’t even have a brother-in-law in the jewelry business.
