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A rat bathed in the afterglow.
“So, think of ultimate glamour. How close am I?” I ask after reading a lifestyle piece where the narrator muses about taking “dozens of cotillion classes.” She mourns the downfall of etiquette and tradition — and, in her world, connection. There’s truth to that. Handwritten thank-you notes and thoughtfully crafted dinner parties are scarce. Etiquette is about connection, but the higher you climb, the more coded it becomes. Seemingly small gestures — picking up the right spoon, navigating the right conversations, knowing when a gift is duty and when it’s grace — mark the difference.
I look up to my boyfriend. He takes a moment to think and I hold in a laugh. This feels like a quintessential, do-I-look-fat-in-this set up but it’s a sincere question. He deflects with humor which is expected, because what does that question even mean, but also a bit disappointed. In the silence, the answer is obvious.
“I sometimes feel like a rat in the dumpster looking on at people living lives of sophistication that will never be attainable,” I joke. Partially to ease the silence, mostly to make my point.
