The whole evening I've been taking quick - I hope sneaky - sniffs at the back of my hand. I'm not a freak (mostly); this afternoon, a friend and I took a stroll through Sephora and - during said stroll - liberally spritzed ourselves with Chanel No 5. Gee whiz. It's been said before, but I'll say it too - that is one nice perfume. Masterful marketing is not the thing which has kept girls worshiping it since 1921. It just smells lovely.
I did something sort of dumb tonight.
Wait, no. I told myself I was going to be honest on here - tonight, I did one downright idiotic thing, one moderately brainless series of things, and one sort of dumb thing. Since I would like to preserve the illusion that I am a sparklingly clever girl just burdened with an excess of common sense, I won't tell you the downright idiotic thing I did (it involved car keys and the car the keys belonged to and a locked car and an evening spent wondering why, if the guys from triple A have those plastic pillow things they use to open your car door with, why can't car thieves or - more to the point - I get one too? It would be very handy and save a lot of time. For me and car thieves.), but I will confess the sort of dumb thing. I encouraged my smart friend to start a blog and told her, in a moment of flustered idiocy, that if she started a blog, I would send her the address to my blog. This is a serious problem for two reasons.
1. I'm beginning to think that she sees through the thin mask of reasonable intelligence I've maintained for the past howevermany years. The downright idiotic incident probably roused her suspicions, and if she reads this I'm through. Really, Kelsey, where was your head? ("Well, Kelsey, probably locked in the car with the keys, moron.")
2. Her blog is going to be TOTALLY AWESOME.
Why? Well, let me tell you.
Also tonight, this friend and I made a stop at Anthropologie, possibly the only store on earth that manages to somehow contain not a single piece of merchandise that doesn't make me sigh my heart out and long to find a rich husband or invent, like, facebook or something and become revoltingly wealthy. I know, I'm a pig - but I promised myself I would be honest on here. Honestly, I covet it all.
But, back to the blog thing. During our lengthy ramble, my friend picked up an etiquette book (the title of which I can't remember to save my life). The finding of this book was a blessed miracle. Every page is full of advice on how to sit properly, get in and out of cars gracefully, make small talk - everything, in short, that makes up a poised, elegant, charming woman.
We weren't simply delighted to find this book because it's clever and has some good advice here and there - we two are devoted to the pursuit of chic. We are dying to be elegant and graceful. And I'm not just saying that. We watch old movies, and exclaim over Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, Lauren Bacall and the like. They just ooze grace - radiate it. Always poised and perfectly groomed. (Can you imagine Audrey Hepburn going out with chipped nail polish? No.) They stand up straight, sit like royalty, and walk like... like... I don't know! Iconic movie stars! Did you know Katharine Hepburn sometimes had to do her own stunts because the doubles didn't stand up straight enough? I mean!
My friend and I even googled finishing schools once. We are that desperate. When you've spent all your formative teen years reading Agatha Christie novels about charming heroines with perfect hair and deep red nails, you can't be indifferent to your own state.
But, back to the blog again.
THIS is why her blog is going to be awesome - besides the fact that she's funny, a good writer, and can actually think about, you know, like, deep stuff - she's going to blog about going through this heaven-sent paperback. How cool is that?
We plan to study the book this semester, so that when we transfer to our four year schools we will be staggeringly sophisticated. We're going to stand straight and tall, actually tell people when they look great or we're glad to see them, smile, not text when with company, make eye contact, say "How do you do?", wear perfume, do our nails, learn ten French phrases to interject into conversation*, get out of cars gracefully, and be, officially, the most classy, chic, poised, charming, ladylike girls you could ever hope to meet. Just you wait and see.
I wish I had the stamina to write poetically about all this, but I'm too tired. It'll just have to be me. So there.
(*This idea, however, came from An Education, which we saw together and both declared one of the best movies we've ever seen. Brace yourself: If I'm reading the signs correctly, I believe a whole post about it is coming soon.)
Oh no. Oh dear. I've just seen the friend's blog and it's even worse than I thought it would be. She's all, like, spiritual! And deep! And she's going to talk about poetry! And her title is in French! What will I DOOOOOO? Now that she's told me her blog address, I have to tell her mine! We made a pact. Rats.
Sample of actual thought after typing the last two sentences, and more compelling evidence that my mental state might not be quite what it should:
"Oh, well. She'll just not want to be your friend anymore, Kelsey. You'll have to live with it."
"Kelsey! Where has this resignation come from?!"
"Kelsey, you just spent three hours in British Lit discussing Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Put two and two together here."
"I hated that book! And class discussion is agony! Tinky Winky of Teletubbies could give more insight, is more cerebral than some of my beloved classmates."
"Now, Kelsey, getting angry never solves your problems. And you know the Teletubbies comment is unkind and untrue. You're even making friends in class."
"It's basically true!"
"This discussion is pointless. I'm not going to argue with you anymore. I'm going to bed."
"well... fine! Go then!"
"Fine! I will!"
"But you, Miss Negative Meanie, are the one who writes mean, shallow things. Emily would still be my friend if YOU weren't here. Jerk. Goodnight."