Practical Valeting Questions
Because I have thought/written myself into a corner and I simply don't have time to rewatch the entirety of Downton Abbey, Jeeves and Wooster, and the old Pride and Prejudice mini-series in probably vain hope of finding the answer.
Exactly how much help did valets give when helping people undress? I mean, I know they got all of the clothes laid out and helped them get into jackets and tighten those thrice-cursed buckles on the back of the waistcoats, but what about the other direction? Would the gentleman undo the studs on his shirt and then have the valet help pull the garment off, or would the valet actually have to handle the studs as well? Would they even help get the shirt off if it wasn't soaking wet for some reason?
I am trying to Brain Function, but I am also being tired and just sinus-y enough for the grey cells to leak out my ears, so it's not going well.
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i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".
it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.
do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.
but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.
do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).
you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.
walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.
no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.
do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."
you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.
there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.
i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.
he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."
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Eddie knows that he’s good at pushing buttons. It’s a whole-ass hobby for him, he’s pretty sure, given how much enjoyment he gets out of it combined with the skill-level (high, obviously – he’s had fifty-something years of practice).
Steve, Eddie’s live-in husband, is on the receiving end of the button-pushing more than anyone else, and he’s a pretty good sport about it most of the time.
About once a year, though, Eddie manages to push the exact button that sends Steve straight into deep-freeze mode.
He’s very good at it. Maybe even as good as Eddie is at triggering it in the first place, so on day three of getting nothing but silence from Steve – his soulmate, the light and love of his life – he decides to take some action.
Action starts with bribing his two oldest daughters (away at college) into coming home for the weekend because…duh. Steve loves their kids more than anything (and definitely more than he loves Eddie at the moment), so that’s a relatively low-effort home run.
“So what the fuck did you do, then?” Moe asks the second she and Robbie walk through the door.
“Who says I did something?” Eddie counters (ridiculous, because he totally did do something, but damn, she could have jumped to that conclusion even a little slower).
Moe doesn’t even dignify that with a response, just fixes him with one of those Steve expressions she’s been firing at him since practically the day she was born.
“He totally did something,” Hazel tells them, “It might be hopeless. Getting you home might not even fix it.”
“Oh, how you underestimate me, daughters,” Eddie says, “This is just phase one.”
He holds up his phone to show that he’s already calling Robin.
She picks up only a second later.
“What do you want, Edward?”
“Hey Buck. Just wanted to make sure you don’t forget about dinner at our house tonight.”
Robin is silent for a while.
“Uh…what dinner?”
“You know! Dinner! We’ve got all three kids home this weekend, remember? You were gonna bring that game Steve likes? He’s all excited!”
“Oh my god,” Robbie mutters, “You are such a gaslighter.”
Eddie silently flips her off.
“Let me see if Nanc–”
“Nope,” Eddie hastily interrupts, “Don’t ask Nancy. Just be here quarter to five.”
“Uh, oka–”
Eddie hung up.
“Pa-thetic.” Moe rolls her eyes.
Steve emerges from his office exactly at five o'clock that evening to see that their kitchen is filled with his children and friends and the smell of what Eddie’s got cooking on the stove, and it isn’t until he’s got a massive grin on his face and his arms around Robin’s shoulders that he finally asks, “Wait – what are you all doing here?”
“You didn’t know we were coming?” Robin asks, shooting Eddie a suspicious look.
“No, they aren’t talking,” Hazel pipes up.
Eddie surreptitiously smacks her arm and mutters, “Be cool, will you?”
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it is hard to explain without sounding vain or stupid - but the more attractive others find you, the more you're allowed to do. the easier your life is.
i have been on both sides of this. i am queer and cuban. i grew up poor. for a long time i didn't know "how" to dress - and i still don't. i make my sister pick out any important outfits. i have adhd in spades: i was never "cool and quiet", i was the weird kid who didn't understand how "normal" people behave. i was bullied so hard that the "social outcasts" wouldn't even talk to me.
i got my teeth straightened. i cut my hair and learned how to style it. i got into makeup. it didn't matter, at first, if i actually liked what i was doing - it mattered how people responded to it. like a magic trick; the right dress and winged eyeliner and suddenly i was no longer too weird for all of it. i could wear the ugly pokemon shirt and it was just "ironic" or a "cute interest."
when i am seen as pretty, people listen. they laugh at my jokes. they allow me to be weird and a little spacey. i can trust that if i need something, people will generally help me. privilege suddenly rushes in: pretty does buy things. pretty people get treated more gently.
i am the same ugly little girl, is the thing. still odd. still not-quite-fitting-in. still scrambling. still angry and afraid and full of bad things. of course it became my obsession. of course i stopped eating. i had seen, in real time, the exact way it could change my life - simply always be perfect, and things can be easy. people will "overlook" all the other things. i used to have panic attacks at the idea others would see me without makeup - what would they think? even for a simple friend hangout, i'd spend a few hours getting ready. after all, it seemed so obvious to me: these people liked me because i was pretty.
i worry about how much i'm being a bad activist: i understand that "pretty" is determined by white, het, cis, able-bodied hegemonies. if i was really an ally, wouldn't i rally against all of this? recently there's been a "clean girl" trend which copies latinx aesthetics: dark slicked-back hair, hoop earrings. i almost never wear my hair like that; i can hear the middle school guidance counsellor advising me that i might fare better if i toned it down on the culture.
the problem is that i can take pretty on and off. that i have seen how different my life is on a day where i try and a day where i don't. i told my therapist i want to believe the difference is confidence, but it's not. and when you have seen it, you can't unsee it. it lives inside your brain. it rots there; taunting. i get rewarded for following the rules. i am punished for breaking them. end of story.
pretty people can get what they want. pretty people can feel confident without others asking where they got their nerve from. pretty people can be weird and different. pretty people get to have emotions; it's different when they get aggressive, it's pretty when they cry with frustration.
of course people care about this. of course it has crawled into you. of course you want to be seen as attractive. it's not vanity: it's self-preservation.
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