After much careful consideration of anachronistic modes of dialogue, not to mention unregulated circumlocution, always an Achilles' heel of mine, my inner-rhetorician and I have decided to become a sparkling "said I" sort of witty raconteur, rather than the more modern and infinitely more tedious, plain-old "I said" type of droning recollector of dreary conversations.
As in: "You have the armpits of a nineteenth-century Irish navvy," said I to the sweaty, polyester-shirted tax consultant who had the bald effrontery to deny my standard deduction for the cost of one pair of purple pantaloons (velvet) and razor-sharp rapier (cold steel) for professional purposes. "You, sir, are an absolute bounder of the blackest kind," said I in continuation. "And from this moment on I shall entrust preparation of my IRS returns to Messrs Turbo Tax & Co."
