Poison Penmanship: The Gentle Art of Muckraking by Jessica Mitford

Author:Jessica Mitford
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Language Arts & Disciplines, Literary Collections, Journalism, Literary, Biography & Autobiography, Essays
ISBN: 9781590175293
Publisher: New York Review of Books
Published: 2012-05-09T07:00:00+00:00

WEDNESDAY

Those in the know (the old-timers) tell me that by Wednesday one is for some reason at one’s lowest ebb. I can see why: the miraculous shedding of weight has slowed down (I only lost half a pound today), the novelty of the day’s routine has worn off, and there are still three days left until Sunday.

Perhaps reflecting the Wednesday slump, lunchtime talk today turned from food to liquor: how many calories in a whiskey sour? In an ounce of bourbon? The duenna smilingly instructed us in these matters, and added that if one must drink, plain Scotch and water is better than martinis.

A well-known dynamo (or at least the wife of one) arrived in our midst today—Mrs. Barry Goldwater. As we tucked it in together on adjacent mats and walked our ears up the wall for posture, I observed that she is a whiz at the exercises, and in my heart I knew she was far trimmer of figure than most of us. She is a day scholar, for her home is hard by and she returns there in the evenings. Here she is surrounded by her husband’s admirers and former campaign contributors; I have yet to meet a Rockefeller supporter at Maine Chance. I asked my nice Swedish masseuse, “Do any Democrats come here?” “Ach, ja,” she answered. “Ve have very many of them, Mrs. Dwight Eisenhower, she come, and Mrs. John Foster Dulles, she always come for Christmas, and Mrs. Barry Goldwater ...” “Any Johnsons, or Kennedys, or Humphreys?” She considered a moment. “No ... I no know those names.”

At dinner tonight there was a moment of perturbation to ruffle the calm. We had lamb chops, and the waitress, as is her custom, indicated that we might take two each. Halfway down the table, the platter was empty. Had she made a mistake? Would some diners have to go hungry? A Lord of the Flies look momentarily crossed some faces (while those who had already been served noticeably speeded up consumption, perhaps fearing the second chop would be called back); but another platter soon appeared, and the day was saved.

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