The Runaway Cook

"No, don't tell us!"  He almost shrieked from across the train table with an almost cocky twinkle in his eye.

"Yeah, let us guess." Chimed in the man to my right

"Ok, fine" I blushed with a sigh.

They grinned together with a suspicious low hum of a "hmmmm" and eyebrows raised. Names soon flew out of their mouths in an attempt to discover mine. Some were flattering and that you'd expect a mysterious woman to own up to as hers, while others were silly what I'm hoping were just ridiculous jokes. Alas, neither of the men could guess my name.  The decision was made to narrow down the selection of possible names by guessing my heritage and going from there. Again "alas," as they too sucked at guessing that. I eventually had to clue them in on my mainly Norwegian and German blood.

"Helga? Olga? . . . No, I've got it! INGA!"

"Really? Inga?" I raised my eyebrow and took a swig of milk.

"Oh Yeah!"

The gentleman across from me then explained that Inga was a name for only gorgeous women and I should be in want for such a name. I laughed and I tried my best to work on journaling that was past due. But their playful interrogations continued. I think it was shortly after they found out my name was Elizabeth, that yellow button-up to my right went back to what I assume had something to do with a business. However, the smarmy man sitting opposite me gave himself up as James Biss a Canadian magician. (I'm not lying. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried!)

After revealing his name and occupation, the interrogations swapped. I begged him to tell me some sort of illusion. I insisted that revealing his secrets to me couldn't hurt. I mean who was I going to tell. And I had some questions about an illusion I had seen/been part of last fall.

"Only if you promise not to tell a single soul!"
"Ok, hahaha I won't"
"Repeat after me. I promise . . ."
"I promise"
"Not to reveal the secret"

A photo from that day I received from Magic Man

"Not to reveal the secret"
"Of what I'm 'a-boot' to learn"
"Of what I'm about to learn"
"Even if I am tortured"
"Even if I am tortured"
"Tickled"
"Tickled"
"Or given treats"
"Whahahahatttt? Hehehehehehehe . . . .(he glared) . .eh-hem ok, or given treats"

What was that secret you wonder? Well, you'll just have to keep wondering.

 I haven't told a single soul and I'm not about to reveal the mysterious ways of a seasoned, and if I might add, dishy, Canadian magician I met on the train to Bologna.

photo from http://www.destination360.com/europe/italy/images/s/italy-trains.jpg