Well, yesterday I endured one of America's strange national customs. From what I've been told, it all began with a terribly drab sect of Christians. It seems they came to this country a bit rashly and were very ill-prepared as to the practicalities; I do believe they hadn't thought to bring any servants at all, silly things. And when the weather got colder and they couldn't eat figs and plums and such from off the trees, they got really terribly hungry and had to go steal food from the lovely Indians - no, not the Gandhi sort of Indians, the other ones. And then they sat down at table and thanked God for having the Indians to steal from. At least that is what I've been told. Though I may have scrambled it a bit. But then, of course, American history is so very contradictory.
The way the country now celebrates this sad little occasion is to come together and gorge themselves quite dreadfully. My hosts were charming and the food was really quite expertly prepared. (Especially when you consider that, once again, I was supping with people who have no servants, and must needs do the cooking themselves!) I must quibble with the selection of courses, though, as it was all most starchy. I was told that that was the one indispensable ingredient of the menu though, to me, it did seem unnecessarily reckless. And then, of course, everyone sat about on the sofas in very ungraceful postures, their heads lolling, too sleepy for any intelligible conversation. Really, Americans are such a strange race. Oh, and we ate a turkey! I didn't know that anyone actually ate turkey! Haha!
Now, I must get back to my conte du Mexique, mustn't I? I'm sure you're all quite cross with me and my negligence. Now, where was I...? Hmmm...?
1 week ago