And so it was in an excitable state, what other passengers would later describe as “oddly manic” and “twitchy”, that Dorothy commenced her on-board adventure, released as it were from the cage of self-doubt and suburban propriety.
No sooner had she taken her place at the Captain’s Table dinner on the first night, resplendent, she hoped, in a mauve drip-dry rayon pantsuit last worn at the bowling club fundraiser two years earlier, than a handsome young swarthy steward presented her with an enormous, paper umbrella-festooned, lime green cocktail, the first hasty gulp of which left Dorothy reeling. Deciding, after a nervous glance around the table, that the initial sensation was actually quite positive, Dorothy proceeded to swallow the entire sticky, fizzy concoction, pausing for breath only when her throat became momentarily obstructed by a hitherto unseen glacé cherry.
When she eventually came to, the dining room was deserted.
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