Saturday, March 16, 2013


After months of resisting my friends' prodding, I finally caved into the black hole that is Downton Abbey.  It took a couple of episodes for me to get into it, but now I must know all details about their lives and have a lonely void in my life since finishing the third season.  I also learned a few things about the British aristocracy that I wasn't previously aware of.

Now don't think I'd turn down the option to live a Downton Abbey life if it were (unlikely) offered to me, but I'd do things a bit differently.  I would love to have a cook.  If anyone knows me, they know that I want delicious food available at all times, and I don't particularly want to put any effort into it myself.  Mrs. Papmore can come hang out in my kitchen anytime and make me delicious foodstuffs that I gluttonously stuff into my face.

The problem is the formality of their meals.  First off, they wear outfits to family dinners that I'd feel overdressed in at a black tie wedding - which is probably because they're wearing WHITE TIE.  I didn't even know this existed.  What's the point of being a rich person if you have to be so damn uncomfortable all the time?  Why would you wear white to eat?  Doesn't anybody spill besides me?  To me, having that much money means sitting my ass on the couch in my yoga pants, tshirt, and fluffy socks while people bring me trays of Thai food until I tell them to stop. 

I'm rich, I'm fucking in charge.  If you want to dress like a fancy asshole to eat dinner, be my guest, but don't be disappointed when I take mine on a tv tray on the sofa.  And I might do something as ridiculous as having my iced tea in a 19th century goblet.  Fuck you, it's my damn goblet.  It's worth $15,000, and I'm drinking iced tea out it, and it tastes delicious.  And this whole "breakfast in bed thing" for the wives - it SOUNDS like a good idea, but do you know what I'd do if I ate a delicious home-cooked breakfast in my pjs in my comfy ass bed?  I'd fall the fuck back asleep, that's what.  It's hard enough to get me out of bed, don't encourage it by bringing my food to me.  Why don't you just go ahead and catheterize me too so I don't have to get up to use the restroom?

It would be a little awkward for a maid to get my clothes out and tell me "Ok, Lady Kim, here's your jeans.  Which tank top would you like today?  One with some sparkle?  Perhaps the dinosaur tshirt?  And let me go get your moccasins."  And I think it would actually be more difficult for someone to dress me, since I'd likely lose my balance standing on one leg and fall into a heap of idiocy and slobbish clothing.  Maybe a stylist would be better - someone to help me pick out clothes from the store and make outfits out of them, since I'm pretty incapable of looking stylish without some emergency text to my friends begging them to provide answers to what I wear with my new shirt.

And I'd take full advantage of the hair and makeup process.  I have never, in my long life, learned to do my hair in any manner other than "blow dried," so some sort of style might be a nice change.  And a professional makeup artist would create the illusion that I'm 90% more attractive than I can make myself out to be on a general day.  I've always wanted one of those. 

Sure, I'd have Carson make my phone calls, since I despise the phone and want nothing to do with it ever.  I'd love to be chauffeured around, mostly so I could nap in the car if I got bored.  I also might try out the silly hat thing, but I suppose I'd have to do a wardrobe change if I weren't to look like a complete moron.  And yes, get me a lounge chair, a tent, and a bunch of my friends to come talk to me.  Why yes, I'd love another mojito.  I'll just be right here when you get back.  Do you think you could hire an Indian chef for Wednesdays?  That'd be super, thanks.

I'm going to have a dinner party!  I expect Thai food, gelato, girl scout cookies, and some nice wine, preferably laid out on silver trays that cost more than my car.  When I take a cookie, please go rearrange the remaining cookies so that it doesn't look like one is missing.  I'd also like Chipotle, but I'd like it to be anticipated before I want it so I can ask for it and it arrives within 2 minutes - seeing as you'd have to go to town to get it.  Hell, just buy the ingredients and keep them in the kitchen, then I can have a burrito bowl whenever I want it.

And I don't need a butler.  Who the hell just shows up randomly anyway?  Stalkers, that's who.  And I sure as hell don't want the butler leading them into the parlor where I'm taking my mid-afternoon milkshake while watching Law and Order and have me awkwardly send them away and ask the butler to call the police.  Oh, do you live across town?  You don't want to drive to Silver-I mean Downton?  I'll send a driver.  No excuse now, bitches.  They'll even keep beer in their car so your ride won't be entirely unpleasant.

So perhaps I wouldn't necessarily do Downton like the Granthams do.  Perhaps I'd horrify them into a heart attack, who knows?  But dammit, if being rich means being stuffy and uncomfortable, give me mediocrity any day.  I'll take my, DVR, and snuggie over wearing a formal gown to an unsatisfying dinner where I'm not allowed to speak about certain subjects or use curse words.  Give me curry or give me death.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.