Supplement to "+ Guest Etiquette"...or, Emily Post's Guide to the Polite Tackle
In reference to his posting below, my fiance obviously hasn't read my book "Emily Post's Wedding Etiquette", recently acquired by who else but my Mother. It was part of the wedding reference library that was shoved on me as I walked in the door from Paris, ring on finger. No Belle should be without it. Of course, I had no idea who Emily Post is, and when I shared this information with my mother I really thought she was going to faint. Either faint, or smack me. But Emily Post probably looks down on smacking brides-to-be...it could create an undesireable skin discoloration that will totally ruin all subsequent photos and thus the entire wedding and probably my marriage. Fainting is definately the better option. It's much more becoming of a Southern woman.
I had no clue as to the depth of my ignorance regarding Emily Post until I had the following encounter in a bar in Austin last night:
I was celebrating with friends whom I had not yet seen since the trip to Paris, when I started chatting with the couple next to me at the bar. The girlfriend was all excited over my ring, while the boyfriend was rolling is eyes. They asked me how I was holding up, and I regaled them with my Emily Post story to illustrate the insanity that is my mother. The boyfriend is a really BIG African-American gentleman who looks like he could whup up on Cowboy's defensive line anytime. He looks at me like I have three heads, and says, "Girl, you don't know who Emily Post is?!"
I have truly discraced my Southern heritage. Me, who did Cotillian, where I had to wear white gloves, and attended Hockaday, an all girls school in Dallas that is so preppy it was featured as one of five "must attend" schools in a book I read that spoofed the prep lifestyle. I have made an effort never to live above the Mason Dixon, and I've always thought I was ahead of the game because I knew the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork. I was upstaged by a man who is probably familiar with Emily Post's Football Etiquette, which explains that it is not polite to snap bare ass with a wet gym towel. I am evidently not the epitome of etiquette that I thought I was.
So I refer my fiance to page 95 of Emily Post's Wedding Etiquette: Awkward Questions Concerning Invitations.
As for me, I think I'll pop open a Bud and watch some NASCAR.
P.S. My mother said I should never tell anyone that I didn't know who Emily Post was, so ya'll don't say anything, ok?
I had no clue as to the depth of my ignorance regarding Emily Post until I had the following encounter in a bar in Austin last night:
I was celebrating with friends whom I had not yet seen since the trip to Paris, when I started chatting with the couple next to me at the bar. The girlfriend was all excited over my ring, while the boyfriend was rolling is eyes. They asked me how I was holding up, and I regaled them with my Emily Post story to illustrate the insanity that is my mother. The boyfriend is a really BIG African-American gentleman who looks like he could whup up on Cowboy's defensive line anytime. He looks at me like I have three heads, and says, "Girl, you don't know who Emily Post is?!"
I have truly discraced my Southern heritage. Me, who did Cotillian, where I had to wear white gloves, and attended Hockaday, an all girls school in Dallas that is so preppy it was featured as one of five "must attend" schools in a book I read that spoofed the prep lifestyle. I have made an effort never to live above the Mason Dixon, and I've always thought I was ahead of the game because I knew the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork. I was upstaged by a man who is probably familiar with Emily Post's Football Etiquette, which explains that it is not polite to snap bare ass with a wet gym towel. I am evidently not the epitome of etiquette that I thought I was.
So I refer my fiance to page 95 of Emily Post's Wedding Etiquette: Awkward Questions Concerning Invitations.
As for me, I think I'll pop open a Bud and watch some NASCAR.
P.S. My mother said I should never tell anyone that I didn't know who Emily Post was, so ya'll don't say anything, ok?
posted by Cindy at 1:56 PM
3 Comments:
what's this about never living above the mason dixon line? we may need to reconsider this engagement...
;)
I've been so excited that I bought "The Guerilla Guide to being a Bridesmaid" today, but now I'm worried about it's lack of Emily Post-ness...hmmmm, I was just so enticed by the revolutionary spirit of the title! Don't tell on me! :)
So, when my mom finally read this post she calls me up and can't speak, just giggles incessantly. When she finally composes herself and speaks, she says, "Cindy, I really don't think you should tell people you don't know who Emily Post is!" Funny, huh?
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