Family pressures

On the rare occasion that D. allows me to stray from the confines of No. 5-- (My sister seems to grant me leave on an unofficial quarterly basis), I wander our halls with the hope of chatting up a denizen or two, perhaps to mutually lament the banalities of Manor life: the inhospitable laundering facility; the dubiously legal ban on incinerator-bound newspaper; D.'s passive aggression toward people with disabilities; et cetera.

To the D.-fearing tenants, such conversations surely amount to little more than small-talk. But to me, they mean all the world. It pains me to say, but life can become rather lonely at the top (quite literally, as I reside on the top floor - although I inhabit the bottom bunk, so who knows?).

Anyway, a recent encounter with a Young Lady o' the Manor does stick out in my mind. After idly discussing the water "issues" that bore the occasion of our lobby run-in, she said to me, "What is it like, being the sister of the world's most powerful real-estate baroness?" Her curiousity took me by surprise; you see, real-estate barony - as well as a $3.5 million apartment complex - has run through the family veins for years. And yet, I've never taken the time to really consider the implications of possessing a surname as notoriously dignified as my own.

In short, there was no adequate reply - I simply uttered something about New York, journeyed back up to my bunk, and wept.