'Maidan' doesn't count, right? Could go for just 'maid' then.
Also: Initiate cheeeeese!
Hope I surviiiiiiiive!
You are led towards the back of the stands, up a flight of unadorned stone steps and into an alcove a dozen feet high, looking out over the stage and the backs of the audience, but separated by a soundproofed glass wall. You are then firmly but comfortingly strapped to a table (don't tell... whoever it was PW hooked you up with last time... but you kinda enjoy this bit), and a trolley is rolled in.
"I'm Annie, and I'll be your caterer for this evening," simpers the young lady, as a dumb waiter the size of a wall arrives with a tray of cheeses on a checkered-tablecloth covered trolley. There are all the normal ones there, parmesan, feta and gouda, gooeier ones like Brie and Neufchâtel, some of the semi-softs like Munster, a couple of really fine-looking soft-ripened goats milk ones like Chèvre-Boîte, of course some blues including wedges and chunks of stilton and gorgonzola, and finally, at the far end of the foot-long tray, a few of the stranger, more recent types, such as double-brined electrolytic China-4 halloumi or Tergon-7 Ultra-fine Triple Bozark's Milk. There's.. a lot of cheese. And not much else. Nothing, in fact.
"Open wi-ide."
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"Come on, ladies and gents, think, think! I know it's been a hard day at the office and all, but turn your metnal capacity inhibitors off one last time? Otherwise what'll the smartass on the stage learn from this, huh? Why don't you think about him a little?"