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November 16, 1998

Sir Charles Grandiose presents The Grandiose British-American/American-British Dictionary What the Americans Would Call: We British would rightly recognize as: Elevator Lift Umbrella Brolly Weekend Weekend The 'trunk' of a car The 'boot' of a car Baywatch The Spanish Inquisition Culture Sitting about with one's hand thrust underneath one's elastic waistband while eating pork rinds High Culture Benny Hill Intellectualism Actually reading a book once in a while Taco Bell The leftovers of a pig trough after the swine have finished with the drippings Trade Deficit We send them the fruits of the BBC. What do they send us? Episodes of Friends. Attention to detail and design aesthetics Beanbag chairs Freedom of expression The right to wear clothing emblazoned boldly with the name of the manufacturer. Life Life Liberty Having a fast car The pursuit of happiness The assumption that consuming three-quarters of the world's natural resources by one country has been ordained by the hand of God. Dame Persephone writes: Most Esteemed Advisor and Inimitable Confidante, Sir Charles. A most perplexing problem has plagued oneself to unseemly distraction for the matter of many months. One was hoping that your most gracious self would deign to apply your infinite wisdom and superfluous intellect to it so that one may once more be free to intimate oneself in the circles of the elite without further fear of failure. The problem is 'bits.' Bits of this and bits of that; food mostly. They stick between one's teeth and horrify one's acquaintances when one is moved to speak after one of those marvelous charity dinners such as the Society for the Preservation of Long-distance Pigeon Racing holds. Parsley has so much had one undone, that one has even gone so far as refraining from all dishes that contain the delightful Herb; one can think of nothing more disastrous than discovering that a morsel of the bright green variety has been flashing between one's pearly whites all through the second half of the picnic pleasantries. Toffee is one's own worst enemy, for even the ivory inter-dontal manipulator one carries in own's purse fails to free a good bit of toffee. And quite frankly, I can not bear a life without a piece or two of Triffick's Special Treacle Toffee after tea. It will not do! You see, then, my quandary? Should one dedicate oneself to a life of nun-like abstinence from all the culinary delights that the great British dinner table has to offer that might devastate one's after-dinner tete-a-tetes? Yours in desperate dental deliberations, Dame Persephone Gleamsworthy, of Tippton. Sir Charles replies: Great Dame, An obsession with the appearance of one's teeth is a relatively new phenomenon. And, one scarcely need add, an American trend. Why, in the days of one's youth, Winston Churchill himself used to walk about with several days' worth of salad accumulated between his incisors. In fact, foreign tourists used to confuse his mouth with the entrance to the Kensington Gardens. Yet did it take away any of his authority? Did we not all thrill to his radio addresses? Was he not one of the nation's greatest leaders? And then, in the postwar period, how we were taken in by the Yanks and their dazzling smiles. We listened to their rapturous encomiums to the joys of minty-fresh breath. We bought their Pepsodent, their mouthwash, their dental floss. That is, those of us without sense. For you see, Dame Persephone, the true British aristocrat knows that the teeth with which we were born are far better than teeth touched by the hand of Artifice. One does not floss, oneself. In fact, one feels quite naked without a goodly chunk of beefsteak between one's front teeth. Eschew these so called niceties such as 'brushing', Dame Persephone. If God had intended the aristocrats to clean their teeth, he would not have invented watercress sandwiches. Authoritatively, one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose Bobby Bob writes: Hey Sir Chuck!  Did you know you got the same name as the "Chucky movie" Chuck?  I think that's pretty cool!  Why don't you have a contest to see how many movies sport a version of your name? (Like "Charley" movies etc. Hey, there's one now!). No need to thank me for such a "bone' mote" (that's French!) of a idea, I'm just glad to be of service!  Bobby Bob Sir Charles replies: 'Hey' Bobby Bob, Did you know that in your home state of South Carolina, it is against the law for cousins to marry, produce offspring, and then for the offspring to marry and produce a son? And while it appears not to be a further crime for the inbred monsters to name that son 'Bobby Bob,' it ought to be. Brusquely, one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose Hermione writes: Dear Sir Charles, Imagine my horror when I saw  your alleged portrait, Sir Charles . . . . for what you have represented to be your visage is, in fact, the very image of my departed and sainted husband, Dr. Wilcox Wilcox.  This is no laughing matter, as Wilcox was well known in his lifetime as being the face on the famous Wilcox Elixir label.  This face, dear sir, has been seen from every perimeter of Her Majesty's Empire, and for you to claim Wilcox's identity is behavior shameful to a gentleman and peer of the realm. I await your response and explanation of this matter. Hermione Wilcox P.S.  Do mention to Lady Felicia that we were girls together. Sir Charles replies: Mrs Wilcox, One has had one's minions exhume your late husband's corpse in order to assess the truth of your viperous allegations. Apparently there is no resemblance whatsoever. You may wish to notify St Eustace Parish to give the body the old six foot down heave-ho back, what? One's minions couldn't be bothered by such a little task. Washing one's hands of that little matter, one remains Sir Charles Grandiose