“A tater tate? Do you do it with your clothes on or what?”
“It means an intimate meeting, my good woman.”
“Is that all? Oh. Ta.”
Nanny Ogg elbowed her way back to the vibrating dwarf.
“You're on,” she said.
“I thought we could have a little private dinner, just you and me,” said Casanunda. “In one of the taverns?”
Never, in a long history of romance, had Nanny Ogg ever been taken out for an intimate dinner. Her courtships had been more noted for their quantity than their quality.
“OK,” was all she could think of to say.
“Dodge your chaperone and meet me at six o'clock?”
Nanny Ogg glanced at Granny Weatherwax, who was watching them disapprovingly from a distance.
“She's not my-” she began.
Then it dawned on her that Casanunda couldn't possibly have really thought that Granny Weatherwax was chaperoning her.
Compliments and flattery had also been very minor components in the machinery of Nanny Ogg's courtships.
“Yes, all right,” she said.
“And now I shall circulate, so that people don't talk and ruin your reputation,” said Casanunda, bowing and kissing Nanny Ogg's hand.
Her mouth dropped open. No one had ever kissed her hand before, either, and certainly no one had ever worried about her reputation, least of all Nanny Ogg.
As the world's second greatest lover bustled off to accost a countess. Granny Weatherwax - who had been watching from a discreet distance[31] - said, in an amiable voice: “You haven't got the morals of a cat, Gytha Ogg.”
“Now, Esme, you know that's not true.”
“All right. You have got the morals of a cat, then.”
“That's better.”
Nanny Ogg patted her mass of white curls and wondered if she had time to go home and put her corsets on.
“We must stay on our guard, Gytha.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Can't let other considerations turn our heads.”
“No, no.”
“You're not listening to a word I say, are you?”
“What?”
“You could at least find out why Magrat isn't down here.”
“All right.”
Nanny Ogg wandered off, dreamily.