I know you’re all excited, wondering, What is going to happen at the tennis luncheon today? Will Carey’s salade niçoise be the success that it should be? How much sangria will everyone drink? I want to know the answers to these questions, myself. And I will, soon.

Meanwhile, I thought I would tell you the menu for the luncheon as if it were one word:

CruditewithhummusBacon-wrappedfigsVegetablespringrolls-SpicytunarollsSpanikopitaandtiropitesSpinachpistachio-andstrawberrysaladSaladeNicoiseFruitsaladPoachedsalmon-MarinatedsteakChickenandvegetableshiskabobsGrilled-shrimpwithpineapplesalsaRoastedcornsouffleBuffalomozza-rellaandtomatoeswithfreshbasilCouscousLemonLulucakeCoff-eeblondebrowniesChocolatemousseAssortedrugelachorminitarts

I wonder if there is a tune I can set this to. I always want to set everything to “If I Were a Rich Man.” Although this morning a mother at Johnny’s school told me she was working at “Safety Town” this week and I immediately thought, “Let me take you to [beat beat] Safety Town!” It’s a place where children learn not to kill themselves with electricity or drown or be run over or abducted. It’s run by the Junior League.

Where was I? Borges. I’m reading a collection of short stories by Borges called Doctor Brodie’s Report. If Borges stories were jokes they would all have the same punch line: Then he was killed by a knife. That’s life as an Argentine gaucho for you. So what’s the punch line around here supposed to be? Then she protected herself and her children from accidents for the rest of their lives and they were killed in old age by disease.