Well, Mummy says since it’s all off and your Daddy’s going to sweep the scandal under the rug, you can be invited, but don’t you dare try to upstage me at my ball, or I’ll dump a whole bottle of Dom Perignon down the front of your fabulous dress.
Oh, my virgin ears! I can’t believe you’d mention something so ribald in mixed company! How did a family with such common breeding make it into the Social Register in the first place?
We’re new money you realize…
And I’d never think of upstaging you! You’r my best friend Buff’s.
Where the hell is my caviar you miscreant?
Cancun? Spanish-speaking countries outside of Europe are so Travel Channel. If he went to Mexico, darling, he wasn’t worth having to begin with. Provence or Tuscany, on the other hand … now that would be a pity. Speaking of which, there’s this marvelous spa just north of Siena where I rejuvinated last fall. The best hot stone massage in northern Italy, and they have a truffle-based moisturizer.
How quaint … a lovely starter home! That edifice reminds me so much of the utility shed by the carriage house behind the bungalow.
How droll. I at first thought those were the servant’s quarters. Silly me!
Libby, old man, glad you were able to dissuade the young blighter. A dentist! Egad! What next, a solicitor? I mean, they have their uses, don’t misunderstand me, I’d be simply lost without my retainers, Bilious, Upchuck and Hurl. But I wouldn’t want my little Princess to actually marry one of them. They may call themselves “Esquire” all they please, I’m not impressed in the least.
It’s all in the upbringing, I’m convinced of that. Oh yes, Princess has had the finest nannies money could buy. From day one, I tell you. That’s made all the difference, you know.
My dear Mrs. Libertarian,
It grieves me overmuch to bring such a sorrowful matter to light, but I fear I must confess my burden. To my overwhelming horror, (and, I suppose, to yours as well), when my eye chanced to light upon a keyhole as I called to the girl for more sherry, to my deep distress I espied your inconstant daughter watching–no, I cannot say it–but I must–your daughter, with that Hebrew dentist of hers–I had thought them estranged, but apparently they are again indelicately engaged–, watching television in the library. I am heartbroken on your behalf. Perhaps that brute of a dentist moved the television from its accustomed position; --but I must not speculate–perhaps it is best not to know the frightful details. Still, I shudder to imagine my own daughter viewing a television in a common room. Though it pains me to leave this communique, I find that I simply cannot face you, a woman of discretion and charm, to convey in person this hideous event. I surmise that you, a lady of delicate sensitivities, would wish it thus. Farewell, my dear Mrs. Libertarian!
Actually, since I am a man, I am wondering whether you did not see my son, Bartholemew, with his stable boy, Haversham. They have been known to make movies together and watch them on the television. I don’t mind my progeny using the servant staff for their own pleasure; in fact, that is to be encouraged. What I cannot abide is a common usurper who thinks that he is on an equal footing with my inheritors.
But I will investigate nonetheless. So many burdens, so little time.
Oh darling Keithy, haven’t you heard? I have it on good authority that in addition to the delightful little Princess Eugenie, this year’s new entrants class included the adopted redheaded child of those actors, that Tom Cruise and the Australian woman, whatever her name is. Cheltenham is certainly wholly unacceptable now. It’s a shame, I matriculated from Cheltenham myself and have such fond memories of my days there.
Young lady! How unbecoming! One does not use such strong language in the presence of others, especially young men who might be arranged as a suitable match for one! I daresay that this error shan’t be repeated, am I correct?
In addition, Dom Perignon? How vulgar to even suggest that your parents would be so declasse as to serve that swill at your debut? I believe that you owe them an apology for even hinting at such an abomination.
My dear Libertarian,
What is this that I’ve heard? Your son has been watching television, with the stable boy, in a common room? I’m shocked, Libby. Simply shocked and rather taken aback. Between young Siddy’s distasteful assignation with this dentist and Master Bart’s recreations with the help, well…
You’ll note that you’ve not received an invitation to our annual Boxing Day fete. While your company is always a most delicious diversion, we simply couldn’t stand the idea that our traditional repast of cold roasted meats might be tainted by talk - or worse, whispers - brought on by the scandals emanating from your household.
My dear chap, you know that I am above all else concerned with the wellbeing of families so I offer this kind consideration with only the best interests of yourself and your children in mind: perhaps the time not spent at the various holiday celebrations to which you’ve not been invited could be best put to use with your youngsters, pulling your affairs together. It pains me to my heart to think that your dear young ones may be led astray by the lure of the common and mundane. And of course, if you ever need to talk, in confidence, do know that Nigel and I are always available to commiserate and offer comfort. You were such a boon to us during our… troubles with our Prudence, by all means we will endeavor to do all that is possible to return the consideration in kind.
Yours affectionately,
Dame Lewis-Wick
Libertarian –
Your breeding shows here.
While I am grateful for the concern of my peers, and am most distressed at the notion that they would exclude me and my family from their formal affairs while unctuously offering private assisance, need I use this forum to air dirty laundry from your household, Dame Lewis “Where are my panties, Winston?” Wick? Hmm?
And you, Mister Mooney, need I reveal the identity of your great-grandfather and from whence your title “Earl” came?
My daughter might have been fooled by the wiles of a charming peasant, and my son might might be unable to resist temptations of the flesh, but at least we are not pretentious.
[…Blech! Murdock, you fool! Throw out this gelatinous muck, and bring me the Iranian caviar…]
Oh, heavens me, no, we don’t serve it. I have the servants keep a bottle of that swill on hand just in case I need something cheap to throw on someone as an insult.
You don’t think I’d waste a bottle of something drinkable, do you? Daddy’s such an oenophile, he’d never stand for it.
wel goldern i kaint herdly unnerstan a wurd yer al a sayin butt it dont sayound guud ! Fur kriyn out lowd, i heers a chans fir a tuth man tu hich on up to a prissy gal an i say huh? wen the disches needn scrubbn whus gonna do it. thet feller cus she dont know how An wen the cloze start ta stink whuz gunna fixit
him cuz she dont no how
and ware they git the milk fur the yunginz
hez gunna pull titsa make it happn
then hez gunna pull thaze toothz so thaze can eat
i ain no beeter, im a gummer
ain ever ben shooted an my googler vane is still good
I got a gun wot shoots dux wit anythin i puz in the barol
i bet he goldern duz in akompymunt ter me alzo
we’s a wachin an we got them thar old ladis lukkin wit us
wees al over the dang plase
we chaw tobakky
Well, I never! I offer my assistance to you in a spirit of generosity and in remembrance of the help you once gave us and you stab me in the back this way? If I had some of Muffy Jones’ Dom Perignon on hand, I’d dash it in your face, you arrogant, supercilious cad!
And believe me, you do well, untitled, low-bred nouveau riche that you are, to not act pretentious. We have embraced you as a part of our community, taken you into our homes and hearths, all the while you were playing us the fools. We believed that your lack of noble heritage was irrelevant in the face of your father’s philanthropy and your outstanding education. We were most clearly mistaken.
You dare to try to smear me? To slander me with deplorable and utterly fictional insinuations?
You wait and see when you eat another bite of cold roasted duck in my home. You wait and see how cold a winter can be when you’re frozen out of everything.
You’ve crossed swords with the wrong woman, sir. You will not prevail.
And for the record, I don’t even know anyone named Winston.
Dear sirs and madams:
I, the true ‘common tooth-puller’ you speak of (the others are simply after your daughter and her enormous… fortunes), am shocked and offended at your disregard of my chosen profession. I am actually the emperor of Luxembourglandiastein when I deign to rule such a rabble, and if you do not publicly apologise in twenty-four hours for impugning upon both my fiancée’s and my honour, I shall have your estates bombed by my élite private air force and personally oversee the dedentrication of the survivors with my rustiest tools! Ta-ta.
Regards,
Herr-Doktor Lodrain der IIVte von Ogschlag
P.S. Monsieur Libertarian–as for you, my dear sir, we shall meet in the central courtyard of my castle in Bavaria tomorrow morning at sunrise to fight our disagreements out like high-born men. A battle of wits and brawn, mano e mano. Bring a weapon with a yield of under 20 kilotons and do adhere to the Geneva Conventions. I’ll buy Germany so that the customs officials do not trouble you.
Oh, top drawer, Lib old bean. Top… drawer.
If anyone is interested in this book, there’s a copy of it up for grabs on eBay, #2904421577, until 1/11. Opening bid is $3.50.
You simply must tell me what you think of that, my dear fellow. While I am loath to consider resorting to a vintage that is that (sniff) recent and common, because of the dreadful shortage of beverages of any real quality, my staff informs me that I may have to resort to something a bit more pedestrian, such as that one. For everyday sorts of occasions only, of course.
HA! You have just shown your poor breeding! Eton is not a finishing school it’s a public school (not like your American public schools, though, it’s only open to members of the public who can afford $20,000 a term) and strictly boys only. Quite frankly only a Yahoo would make that mistake, it’s akin to not using grape scissors when one is eating grapes.
My Dear Libby,
I have only just returned from our private island with Petunia Rothchilds-Twaddle and Claire Montclair-Clairmont III, and you can imagine how *shocked * the three of us ladies were to hear of your unfortunate situation. Our husbands were too busy on our yacht, *The Flying Wasp * viewing their stamp collections to comment on your *problem. *
If I were in your situation, I would highly recommend that your Precious Daughter marry someone more suitable, beget the heir and then go after the dentist ( if he is still around) or, perhaps, if I may recommend, the unter-gardener here at Snobbelly Manor, Sven, for an *affair de couer *.
Send your *Precious Daughter * our direction and we will introduce her to the *proper sort * and avoid the *cut-direct * from the *Ton *.
I await your answer.
Duchess Smarmyton, Lady Shirley Rochefort-Colby-Brin D’Amour
