She’s an absolute doll
Dear Inebriates,
“Two weeks ago, I brought home a new doll. My two other dolls still haven’t accepted her. They make cutting remarks, and she cries every day! Last night they pushed her out of our bed! Have you any advice?
“–Daunted D*llf*cker”
A Guest Inebriate responds:
“Dear F*cker,
“As dolls take much of their personality from their owners, perhaps the dissonance in your home is a sign of the dissonance in your own mind. Might I suggest calming meditations? Also, a visit with the appropriate imaginary counselor, such as Dr. Lucy Van Pelt, Barney, or the Easter Bunny might be in order.
Dear Etiquette People,
I’m worried about my roommate. She reads a lot of very explicit romance novels. I’ve looked through them, and you wouldn’t believe what goes on. I’ve tried explaining to her that she is cheating on her future husband by allowing herself to dwell on lustful thoughts of the men in these books. She just laughs loudly in a way that might indicate she is possessed.
She won’t listen to sound moral advice, but I know she reads secular advice columns, so you are my only hope. how do I convince her to preserve her chastity, mentally?
~A Concerned Friend
Dear Concerned Friend,
It is our considered opinion that you are already doing enough for chastity, mentally, for both yourself and your friend. We therefore advise you to put aside your worries, and take up some form of healthy outdoor activity.
as ever,
Miss Verity
Dressing For Success
Dear G & G,
I recently realized I hate everything in my closet, and chucked it all into bags and put it out for Goodwill to collect. Please advise me on how to build a tasteful, ladylike wardrobe from the ground up.
~Déshabillé
PS The initial purchases may have to be done online for reasons that probably don’t need spelling out.
Déshabillé, darling,
While I admire and applaud your intentions, I have to take slight issue with your execution. I do hope you kept at least one tasteful peignoir for wandering about your maison.
Though you have said nothing of your living arrangements, one must assume you can’t simply have your man servant pop out to your favorite couturier and pick up something smart. This does make things difficult, but not impossible. So let’s get down to business.
First, darling, let’s get one thing right out of the way: budget. Plan carefully before your purchase. Few of us are blessed with an unlimited budget where our wardrobe is concerned, and though I am one so blessed, I would still adhere to these three basic principals.
They are as follows:
1) Be Appropriate
2) Be Natural
3) Be Accessorized
I’m afraid, Déshabillé, that you’ve told me nothing about your specifics, so I’ll have to speak in generalities. Buy clothes that are appropriate to your age, lifestyle, and sensibilities. If you are a tall, striking woman of a certain age, fight the temptation to purchase that kicky little top and skirt outfit. Resist it down to your last breath, no matter how cute you thought it looked on Lindsay at her last DUI arrest. One can never go wrong with a slimple, elegant Little Black Dress. While pantsuits are not quite quite, a classic slacks/blouse and jacket combination is good.
Shoes….oh, what can I say about shoes. A classic pump to start. Go simple, go clean. As you grow more experienced and confident, then step out a little. But for now, though I hate to play it, play safe. People to watch: Helen Mirren. Katherine Hepburn. People to avoid: Posh Spice. Paris Hilton.
Second, remember this cardinal rule: natural fibers are our friends. Rayon might be fun and fabulous, but it should only be attempted by trained professionals. Even the most innocent appearing poly-cotton blend can turn on you and rend you when you least expect it.
Here again, budget plays a major role: though you may think buying that synthetic sweater that “looks just like the cashmere” a frugal choice, be strong. Buying one utterly perfect silk blouse that caresses your body like no man ever could is worth any number of cheap knockoffs. Think George Clooney compared to Ashton Kutcher. Fabrics that are our friends: raw weave silk, linen, fine wool. Fabric Fiends: anything one would find in the closet of the finer double wides in the flyover states.
Finally — and I cannot stress this enough — accessorize. Can one have a truly great meal without a truly devastatingly excellent wine? No, one cannot. Though I rarely take my wit and wisdom from theatrical endeavours about southern beauty parlors, I must acknowledge the absolute accuracy of Steel Magnolias: “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.” Of course, it was Oympia Dukakis who said that immortal line, so one shouldn’t be surprised at its truth. Once again, however, I’m going to err on the side of caution: stay simple. A double strand of pearls, worn close to the throat, not a rope capable of doing in Isadora Duncan, or looking as if it was won during a debauch in the French Quarter shortly before Lent. Simple gold clips and bangles. A tasteful clutch, not something marketed by Samsonite. Excercise great caution in these selections. They can make or break an outfit. Names to consider: Tiffany, Shreve, classic Chanel. Names to consign to the dustheap: anything found in the more popular malls, particularly those starting with the phrase “Great Mall Of…”
This should get you started, on a theoretical basis. To your immediate issue: get on the phone and call your best gay boy riend. Tell him your sizes — your true sizes, mind you, because he will keep them secret — and tell him what to get for you. Trust his judgement; it’s innate. While he’s running that errand, run right over to The Fug Sister’s site, Go Fug Yourself. Study this site. It’s a good crash course in what mistakes to avoid. Then when your BGBF gets there, dress, leaving him to catch up on the site (you can be sure that he’s seen it and has it bookmarked). Then gather the notes that you’ve taken and get started. Trust his advice; he wants you to look good. He will tell you if that dress makes you look fat, which no one else on the planet will do, and he’ll buy you the cocktails afterwards to help you recover. He is, perhaps, your most important fashion accessory.
Now get to work, darling, and let me know how things proceed.
Yours,
Vivienne
A Well-Preserved Gentleman
Dear G&G,
I am a gay gentleman of a certain age and I frequently find myself seeking company on those long, lonely weekend nights. Recently I was privileged to spend the evening with a scrumptious young lion, but as I was leaving his apartment, I noticed something that continues to bother me, even now.
Every single pair of his shoes, from tennis shoes to Bruno Magli leather loafers – had been neatly stowed in individual Tupperware containers and accordingly labelled. Indeed, everything about this gentleman’s domicile was similarly neatly and, might I even say, obsessively arranged.
What I am wondering is this: is it possible that my erstwhile lay date is a serial killer or some other sort of miscreant? And should I worry about running into him during a game of tennis or, God forbid, a working weekend in the country? How does one introduce a serial killer to one’s friends, without putting the absolute kibosh on the festivities?
I await your wise response.
F. W. Fluppertare, Esq.
My dear gentleman,
You’ve worried Miss Verity on your behalf, although not, she confesses, enough to make her cut short her vacation and return to the keyboard to answer this sooner. Yes, I should say it is not merely possible but extremely probable that what you have there is a serial killer, of the organized type. Before you proceed any further with this relationship–always assuming that you have not, in Miss Verity’s absence, proceeded so far that you are even now residing in a freezerbox somewhere, carefully dismembered and labelled–you must ascertain what his motivations and, if I may risk the word, tastes are. Are you, in other words, quite safe in his company? Serial killers are one of those instance when one doesn’t want too much of the other person’s attention.
Having determined that you aren’t in his target socioeconomic class or division of haircolour or whatever group his guiding principle applies to. Miss Verity sees no impediment to the relationship other than his ghastly unspeakable habit of buying Tupperware–vile plastic stuff! If you can overlook that, you are undoubtedly possessed of an accommodating nature (just possibly too accommodating, but then it isn’t Miss Verity’s job to chide you for your taste) that will make the relationship run smoothly.
As a point of etiquette she does urge you to, wherever possible, forgo introducing him to your friends. If one of them ends up in a neatly-filed box of some kind, the rest are almost certain to level the cut direct your way, and you frankly have enough cutting to be worried about at present.
yours as ever,
Miss Verity
Much-needed Restraint
Ill-Starred
A Lady Writes:
Dear Gin and Gentility,
Some years back, during my university days, I entered into a friendship with two other young ladies of my own age. While our first several months of acquaintance passed happily and without incident, one of these two young ladies, who I shall call Miss A, soon proved to have abominable taste in women.
To wit, she became entangled with a neurotic dancer.
During the course of this unfortunate tendresse, Miss A’s behavior became quite inward and distraught, but I and the second young lady, our mutual friend Miss B, put it down to her unfortunate romantic circumstance. After all, when one is constantly coping with a neurotic (and rather sadistic) dancer, one has little time for other concerns.
Luckily, in time this interlude passed, Miss A recovered, and Miss B and I breathed a sweet sigh of relief. The happy days of our friendship returned, and we even came to room with each other.
Indeed, Miss B and I found it a hopeful sign when, a year later, Miss A fell head over heels for a promising young female pre-medical student, and we gladly encouraged her.
Unfortunately, once happily ensconced in a relationship, Miss A’s behavior deteriorated once again and as to rooming with each other – she left us in the lurch. She even had the temerity to ask us to make an appointment to enjoy the pleasure of her friendship!
Needless to say, the acquaintance cooled. But neither Miss B nor I had the heart to cut off relations with the friend of our youth.
After several years of only contacting Miss B in order to protest her romantic woes when things with the lady medical student were going badly, or to use Miss B as a source of useful trivia in the fashion of an almanac, Miss A has apparently used up the last of Miss B’s patience. Miss A appears immune to all gentle hints by Miss B on the subjects of etiquette and time spent on the gentle joys of friendship.
How may I assist my friends in resolving this difficulty of communication? How does one deal with a young woman who is convinced she is the star of a romantic drama?
- A Perplexed Correspondent
Dear Perplexed Correspondent,
Miss Verity apologizes deeply and sincerely for the time it’s taken her to post anything in response to your dilemma. She hasn’t, she wishes to assure you, been ignoring you. Rather, she’s been puzzling over how best to advise you. Because this is, she confesses, a problem she has faced before, and she has never quite found the perfect solution.
The current vogue to encourage people to believe they are “the stars of their own lives” is, she believes, largely to blame. Society would benefit hugely if people would leave off such overinflated notions and consider the humbler but worthwhile possibility that they are, in fact, minor walk-on characters who may still, by doing their very best, win the accolades not merely of the sympathetic circles of friends that surround them but even of that Eternal Critic whose review matters most in the end.
The problem lies in convincing self-crowned drama queens that their co-stars deserve their share of stage-time and curtain-calls–and that friends are co-stars, not merely convenient people to send running for extra vases when one’s dressing-room is filled to overflowing with roses. Reminding her of how very much you value friendship because it allows you to discuss other things than love affairs might work, particularly if you write it out in a note she could be encouraged to tuck into her mirror-frame (or have it tattooed on her hand, possibly), but in extreme cases such polite hints often go unheeded.
And so Miss Verity is throwing open the floor to her colleagues, and asking them to assist in suggesting solutions.
~Miss Verity
* * *
In Vino is Slightly Too Much Veritas
G&G -
On many occasions, when arriving at a friend’s home, I present the host with a bottle of wine.
Each time, they politely set aside my wine aside and serve their own to me, keeping the bottle I brought for themselves (when in fact it’s a much better wine, and I bring it so I can drink it with them, naturally).
Can I comment on that, and request my own wine? Because, really, I have much better taste, and they always serve us the cheap stuff and hoarde my gift for later. That’s just wrong.
Wondering about wine,
Vinny
Dear Sir,
Miss Verity was on the brink of suggesting you find new friends, but she caught herself just in time. Presumably some strong bond–affection, maybe, or blackmail–ties you to these persons of inferior taste, and it is hardly Miss Verity’s place to pry into the nature of such relationships.
Moving swiftly on, then, she would first of all suggest you approach this in the right frame of mind. Do give your friends the benefit of the doubt, and attempt to believe (or at least attempt to convey the impression that you believe) that they are acting from the best possible motives. This is one of those polite social fictions of which Miss Verity is so fond. It is entirely possible your hosts don’t realize they’re inflicting inferior vintages on you.
There isn’t, Miss Verity regrets to inform you, anything you can actually do to stop them serving whatever they choose. Just as one of the joys of providing hospitality is planning menus and selecting wine, one of the duties of accepting said hospitality involves acting graciously towards whatever is offered. Miss Verity has, herself, been forced to pretend to enjoy things made of “jello,” once carrying the pretense so far that she actually consumed a fragment of the horror in question, so rest assured she understands exactly how difficult such efforts can be.
It pains her to think of your wine sitting there, unopened and unimbibed. Her advice is that you open it. No: you may not suggest that it replace anything your hosts have chosen, however erroneous their belief that their choices complement anything in view. What you may do is cheerfully suggest a pre-dinner drink and start pouring out your own offering without pause or delay. The speed with which Miss Verity and her compatriots here at G&G can whip a cork out of a bottle would bring tears of pride to a vintner’s eyes. It is a skill well wirth cultivating, and ensures you get to consume at least one drink that is entirely to your taste. After that, she suggests you make your most valiant effort, and swallow your pride along with a sporting serving of whatever else is on tap.
Best of luck,
Friend Seeking Benefits
A Gentleman writes:
Dear G&G:
I have a problem that is perhaps not unique, but nevertheless, it bothers me enormously. I am in love with someone who, as far as romance goes, doesn’t know I exist. He considers me a good friend and we chat every day – in fact, I see more of him than I do a good many other people.
I have carried this torch for so long; I hardly remember. I have, from time to time, dropped subtle hints, but my friend doesn’t seem to catch on – or, he does catch on and is pretending not to understand, for both our sakes.
I am between the devil and the deep blue sea: on the one hand, I wish to make my feelings known to him, but on the other hand, I am afraid I would lose his friendship if I made just such a confession. My friend is a very close-mouthed man, and one who does not easily show his emotions; I cringe to think what his reaction would be if I have got it wrong and he doesn’t care for me as anything more than a friend!
Tell me: should I risk telling my friend how I feel? Or should I nurse my love in secret – even if this secret is tearing me apart?
Sincerely,
Brokenhearted
Dear Brokenhearted,
Miss Verity sympathizes with your conflicting urges to preserve your friendship while reaching for something more. It is for just such dilemmas as this that the Gods gave us gin–and if you don’t believe gin is a gift divine in origin, she thinks your religious situation is much more perilous than your romantic one, and will wait here patiently while you hie thee hence to a site of worship and put your soul in order.
Is that sorted? Good. Now, then, you must arrange to be alone with your friend at a time when you are visibly, but not unattractively, tipsy. To drive the point home with perfect clarity, she suggests you pour up a refill in his presence, having first seen to his needs–his alcoholic refreshment needs, she means; let’s not jump the gun here. Once you are reasonably sure he knows you are under the sway of Benign Spirits, she suggests you lean in and kiss him passionately, then confess your feelings.
If he flees in terror, you always have recourse the next day to that useful social fiction of having entirely forgotten whatever it is you did while inebriated. Make a point of stating so, clearly and with embarrassed laughter, and the friendship at least should survive.
wishing you luck,
Of Husbands and Other Men
A reader writes:
Dear Gin & Gentility,
Many years ago I was in love with a fascinating man who didn’t realise I was actually married; I didn’t mean to keep it from him. It just slipped my mind. We lived together in Paris for several months and had a great time. He was the best lover I’d ever had, very inventive in bed, very exciting.
I recently ran across this guy again in a…certain vacation spot…yes, that’s it, a vacation spot…that my husband and I were visiting. This man was very rude to me and, although I tried to explain to him, he didn’t want to hear it. Instead, he kept drinking whisky and listening to sad piano music.
Is it too late to repair the damage I have done? Can we ever get back what we had in Paris?
A Fascinating Lady
PS: My husband is a bit of a dolt and doesn’t know. All he cares about is his “work.” I use the term loosely.
Dear Fascinating Lady,
Miss Verity understands all too well how minute details, such as being married, can so easily slip one’s mind when one is frantically busy doing other things, particularly in Paris.
She herself once forgot her husband’s name just as she was introducing him, and you can imagine how this distressed her, because Miss Verity takes very seriously her moral duty to perform introductions correctly. She eventually solved the problem with a nifty little divorce, and encourages you to do the same. This will free up even more of your husband’s time to devote to his putative “work,” which shows a nice degree of consideration for him, and will leave you better able to pursue your own hobbies and friendships.
She does strongly urge you to find friends with less alarming vices, however. Rude whiskey drinking men have their charms, but sad piano music is, she is told, something of a gateway drug.
It’s also worth bearing in mind that often gentlemen appear more interesting than they really are, having been lent a certain air of dash and intrigue by their inaccessibility. Don’t, dear reader, rush to commit to this fascinating man of yours. You may well think you’re getting an anti-hero, only to find yourself tied to some dreary bean-counter.
