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14 April, 1995

The Lady Felicia, having taken an extended vacation to the hinterlands, has penned an elegant missive in which she reminds one to inform one's readers that, in light of the approaching holiday, it is best to encourage the servants to hold their Easter egg hunts outside the confines of one's estate. One remembers the unpleasantness of several years ago, when one sat upon a hard-boiled egg in one's one third drawing room to be met with reproachful glances and sullen from grubby urchins hiding behind the divan. I thus remain, Sir Charles Flatulent in Phoenix writes: Dear Sir Charles: I have a bit of a problem. I love mushrooms and beans, see, but. . . . Sir Charles replies: Sirrah: Scoundrel, desist! The idea! Were you present, sirrah, one should give you a good horsewhipping! Write one not again with your vile and loathesome inquiries. Utterly repelled, one remains in dignity, Sir Charles Curious writes: Dear Sir Charles: I have followed your column with interest, if not outright fervidness, since you appeared! You're great! Anyway, here's a question for you. Last week you mentioned something about the Gammonsford episode. What happened? Your most devoted fan wants to know! Curious in Kalamazoo Sir Charles replies: Madame: Although the 'fans' of Dame Etiquette should know better than to inquire into one's personal affairs, one realizes that in one's mission to bring enlightenment to a sad world indeed, one must lose certain amount of privacy. Therefore, in the interest of education, one presents the Gammonsford incident. One has changed names to prevent them being dragged through the rich British mud. While visiting the royal estate of Gammonsford, one was pleased, on the whole, with the state of affairs one found there. The servants' livery was clean, the stairs were polished, and the sitting room was well-appointed. As one relaxed in my chaise lounge, someone knocked lightly at the door. It was none other than my hostess, 'Princess Diona'. 'Enter,' said one. The minx entered, whereupon one noticed she wore little more than foundation garments. Knowing the eccentricities to which the finest of families are especially subject, one took little notice. 'Oh Sir Charles' said she. 'My husband, Prince Chuck, ignores me so, and that shrew of a mother of his still has him on a leash. I need a man such as you . . . a manly man, a bastion of British strength and virility, to. . . .' At that moment one silenced her. One had, during her tedious discourse, noticed that her servants had placed one's face towel atop one's shaving towel at the basin. Never having tolerated such slovenliness, and mortally offended by the abuse to one's sensibilities, one called one's servants and left the house immediately. The rift between that family and one's own has never been mended. Hoping you have learned much from the object lesson one has provided you, one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose