"Oh My, but you do make a mean Baba Ganoush baby." Susan cooed to the strong, dark, stranger who had settled across from her on the elegant rug. "I bet your tagine is really something. Now I personally love those briouats myself, all of that butter, powdered sugar, flaky pastry and meat. Mmmm." She ran her tongue delicately over her lips, and the man across from her trembled.

Susan desparately hoped that her line of chatter had covered the sounds she was hearing, seemingly from right under her classy divan. If she didn't know better, she'd swear it was that fellow tuning up for another apsalt. She hoped he'd either be quick about it, or . . . but wait! What was happening in the corner with the screen, the powder room, was it?

Then all doubt was washed away (so to speak) when there came a loud crash, and chunks of broken porcelein rolled out from under the screen, immediately followed by yells, whoops, harmonica wails, and the blast of the psaltery.

Her wiles must have been more powerful than she thought, for it took a moment for her "buddy" to catch onto the situation. With a quick flick of the wrist, susan sent her baba into his eyes, and followed up with a lashing kick as she whilred to see what her commander would require of her.