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Monk dreamed that he met Maureen Dowd. As a fan would do, he told her how much he enjoys her writing, and that her columns were one of the true joys that moved the week along. He may have been at a bus stop when she came walking along with her entourage.
She was as she is in her column picture, prim and proper and rather starch, as opposed to her freer and sexier presence on TV lately promoting her book, Bushworld: Enter at Your Own Risk.
Her manner was as fitting, polite but distant. She even tweaked at her eyelid, taking care of an irritant, while dutifully expressing her appreciation for his interest. At least Monk got a handshake. This dream was too realistic in this regard. He would have liked to have more fun with Maureen. But I guess that the The New York Times is too imposing for our primate-protagonist even in his subconscious playing.
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Monk dreamed that he met Maureen Dowd. As a fan would do, he told her how much he enjoys her writing, and that her columns were one of the true joys that moved the week along. He may have been at a bus stop when she came walking along with her entourage.
She was as she is in her column picture, prim and proper and rather starch, as opposed to her freer and sexier presence on TV lately promoting her book, Bushworld: Enter at Your Own Risk.
Her manner was as fitting, polite but distant. She even tweaked at her eyelid, taking care of an irritant, while dutifully expressing her appreciation for his interest. At least Monk got a handshake. This dream was too realistic in this regard. He would have liked to have more fun with Maureen. But I guess that the The New York Times is too imposing for our primate-protagonist even in his subconscious playing.
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