Hello! Cara here. Have you ever had one of those Mondays… You know, the kind after a long and very busy holiday weekend… The kind of Monday when you think, “I’ll go see what Diane posted today on the blog,” and then you do — and then you sit there puzzled for a moment, because you know you read that post yesterday?
Tuesday… And your day to blog?
Not that that’s ever happened to me.
However, as (coincidentally, of course) it is my day to blog today, and I’m sitting here with my tea (not earl grey, not very hot, but lovely nonetheless) and needing a topic for my post, I shall interview everyone’s favorite Regency time-traveler, Bertram St. James, the self-titled Exquisite.
Welcome, Bertie! How are you today?
Here, I’ll make you some more tea. So, did you enjoy the modern American version of Christmas?
Quite a bit. It was rather like the King’s Birthday — everyone was celebrating. Oh, and the best part was when I saw that Nutcracking Ballet Thing.
I take it you enjoyed it?
Quite a bit! The music was entrancing. I am still humming it. And the grace and elegance of the dancers was a thing of beauty unparalleled in my poor experience. (Dancing was nothing like that during my day, I fear!) However…
Well, I did keep wishing I had seen a more prosperous troupe of performers.
Prosperous? Why do you think these weren’t?
Oh, please. To begin with, the ladies were wearing ragged costumes, which were so old that the skirts had all been (I blush to say) rendered rather shorter than even modern decorum would dictate.
Moreover, it was painfully clear that none of these dancers has had a decent meal in a very long time. I felt compassion every time one of the twig-like ladies stretched her arms upward, as I imagined her imploring the heavens — or perhaps Mr. Santa Clause — to give her a little food. A pizza perhaps. (I adore pizza. It was worth coming to this century purely for pizza. Particularly pizza with pine-apple and anchovies.)
Ah, I hear the kettle whistling. Thank you for joining us here today, Bertie dear! I’ll go make the tea.
My pleasure, as always.
Cara King, author of My Lady Gamester, and brewer of tea