Queen of the Night

(Sherman Oaks) The SJG was spotted sniffing the air, waxing poetic about how good her neighborhood smells - heck, how good the valley smells, post-rain. "Pray tell, what is that heavenly scent?" she asked herself in her most Shakesperean way. "Is it... could it be... why, of course, it's night-blooming jasmine! That glorious perennial shrub I wisely, if not, brilliantly planted in my own backyard, only to be copied by so many others in the vicinity. But then, they say imitation is the menschiest form of flattery, don't they? Yes, I believe they do." Whereupon her nudnik neighbor Frieda von Strudel wandered over and interrupted her, rudely. "Uh, hello, you didn't plant it, your gardener did." "Go away, Frieda, I'm waxing poetic." "Wax on, wax off. I had my gardener plant night-blooming jasmine first and you copied me." "Fine, Frieda, whatevs, you win. Even you can't spoil my mood today, as I take in the intense, romantic, not to mention, intoxicating tubular white bloom." "Oh, excuse me, Little Miss Botanist." "You're excused. By the way, snooty face, I prefer Queen of the Night, in honor of this celestial perfume wafting hither and thither." "I see the time change's really gotten to you. You are losing it." "Get lost, Frieda. Skedaddle, would ya. Get you goin'. Be gone with you, before I drop a house on you, metaphorically. You are harshing my night-blooming jasmine buzz in the biggest way." "You're a nut bag, SJG." "Takes one to know one, Frieda. Takes one to know one."