Bertie Takes a Bath

Oh my, isn’t my face red. I meant to hit the little keys to make the title of this “Bertie Talks About Bath.”

But somehow, it doesn’t say that.

And I cannot decipher how to change it. Please forgive me. I never talk about indelicate things, such as — well — you know. At least, I never talk about them by accident.


Bertie Talks About Bath

Bath is dreadfully boring. I have no idea why you all like it so much.

I will concede that it is a pretty little town. Some of the buildings are aesthetically pleasing. As are a few of the ladies.

But save me from those Bath tabbies! Those plump, red-faced, elderly women who always tell one “stand up straight, Bertie!” and “drink your water, Bertie!” and “meet me at 9 o’clock in the morning, Bertie!” and “Dance with my ugly grand-daughter, Bertie!” (Very well, I admit that they don’t phrase the last command with those precise words. But that’s the meaning, I assure you.)

It’s enough to give one chills, even in this weather.

My reply to the tabbies:

1. As far as I am concerned, there is no 9 a.m. There is a 9 p.m. I could meet you at 9 p.m. (But I won’t.)

2. I’d much rather drink wine, thank you very much.

3. I am standing just as straight as is fashionable. No more, no less.

4. Dancing is too too fatiguing. I’d much rather have more wine.

Those are my ruminations on Bath.

I have never read Miss Austen’s novel Northanger Abbey, so I cannot say whether or not I care that it will be filmed in Ireland. Ireland is a beautiful country, but — oh, you know. It would be quite splendid if only there weren’t so many Irish folk living there.

Yours elegantly, as always,

Bertie the Beau

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6 Responses to Bertie Takes a Bath

  1. Todd says:

    Dear Bertie, Old Thing,

    I believe the phrase you were looking for is: “Bertie, dear, won’t you stand up with my grand-daughter? Such a charming girl, and so accomplished.” Is that right? Ah, well–one cannot expect a tabby to change her–er, stripes, I suppose.

    As for the Irish, just let me whisper a word of warning: a statistically improbable fraction of all Americans claim descent from Ireland, so it might be as well to temper your observations a trifle. However elegant they may be.

    Your obt. svt.,


  2. Todd, omigosh. I’m one of those statistically improbable ones! When I was well into my 30’s I asked my mother and aunt, “So during which potato famine did our ancestors come over from Ireland?” They gave pensive looks and replied, “Ireland? I suppose there was an Irish ancestor somewhere but mainly our family came from Alscace Lorainne.”
    Mon Dieu!

  3. Todd says:


    Or maybe “Mein Gott!” Well, I mean…Alsace Lorraine, you know… 🙂


  4. Cara King says:

    Funny, Diane — I have a crew of ancestors from the Alsace area too! Though I also have a bunch of Irish ones. And a fair number of “well, the last name was Stevenson, so we’re guessing maybe English” random who-knows types… 🙂


  5. Now my face is red again! Todd, old chap, I take back my remark about the Irish. Too, too rude of me. So sorry. (No need to call me out now, by the way.)

    Particularly as I have discovered the most wonderful Irish creation — a delicacy known as “Fortunate Charms.” With yellow moons, white stars, purple clovers, or something like that. Delicious.

    Bertie, going back for another bowl

  6. Todd says:

    Bertie, Mon Vieux,

    Call you out? Perish the thought! I am a man of peace. And besides, to perforate your exquisite waistcoat would be a crime against art–rather like throwing a brick through a stained-glass window.

    I am rather fond of Fortunate Charms myself. Have you tried Commodore Crunch? Or Apple Knaves?


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