My Fair Lazy: One Reality Television Addict's Attempt to Discover If Not Being A Dumb Ass Is the New Black, or, a Culture-Up Manifesto by Jen Lancaster

Author:Jen Lancaster [Lancaster, Jen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literary, Humor, Social Science, Popular Culture, Authors; American, 21st century, General, United States, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Women
ISBN: 9780451229861
Publisher: NAL Hardcover
Published: 2010-05-04T18:31:01.527397+00:00

“How do you like your hotel?”

I’m sitting at a bistro on the Upper East Side having lunch with Melissa C. Morris, who, aside from being possibly the preppiest girl in the world159 and a devoted dog owner and a clever writer, is a real-deal New York Social Diary socialite. We started e-mailing each other a few years ago because I’m a huge fan of her Web site. She lives this amazing life full of benefit dinners and international travel and cultural activities and just dolce vita in general. She chronicles it all on her Web site, but instead of it being all exclusive and show-offy, she manages to make you feel like you’re walking around in her Wellingtons for a while.

Melissa has the best manners I’ve ever witnessed. Graciousness emanates from every word she writes. Ever see those old Emily Post books where she says the hostess is responsible for making everyone feel welcome? And if someone at the table drinks from the finger bowl by mistake, the hostess must follow suit? Melissa would absolutely quaff her bowl.

When I mentioned getting together, I unabashedly told her I wanted to spend some time soaking up her social graces. And so impeccable are her manners that she didn’t even laugh at me.

I’d planned on working with an etiquette coach at home, and I contacted a ton of places but not one of them ever called or e-mailed me back, which, if you ask me, is pretty fucking rude. Charm school FAIL. I figured I couldn’t learn anything from places so lacking in basic social niceties, and decided to do things on my own, ergo Melissa.

Today’s plan is to first have lunch and then check out the sculpture garden at the Met, where she’s a member. I quietly make note that while eating our salads, we pretty much handle our utensils and stir iced tea and work our napkins the same way.

I suspect my baseline table manners are fine, and no one will automatically assume I’m a member of the Clampett family, should they see how I eat soup. It’s the more advanced parts of etiquette I don’t quite get. Like, I’ve had people over for dinner before, but I don’t really understand how to make a party flow smoothly. Pretty much I just pump everyone full of cocktails, they get drunk, food ends up being served hours later than anticipated, and on occasion, if Fletch is working the grill, he sets his pants on fire. At my last dinner party, Gina came into the dining room and said, “Hey, did you want your cats on the counter? Because they’re licking the chicken.” Mind you, this is after I demonstrated how the cats beg at the table and how sometimes I chew up bits of my meat and feed it to them and . . . actually, that veers dangerously into Elly Mae territory, doesn’t it?

Obviously Melissa and I aren’t going to cover how to throw a dinner party that doesn’t descend into

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