It was a good hair day in a whimsical, stick-my-finger-in-a-light-socket kind of way. Then I actually went to high tea in my Peanuts gang t-shirt and my pink, canvas shoes whose print smacks of a tattoo or maybe a Guns N' Roses concert tee. Needless to say, I'm my own kinda gal.
Yes, I can see a couple of you wincing and smacking your foreheads at the thought of me at high tea in my Peanuts shirt. But this is me, y'all.
High tea. Now there's something I never thought I'd find myself doing. I loooove tea; don't get me wrong. I'm just, well, not prim and proper. You read the above paragraphs, right? I'm comic relief, not high tea material.
Even so, I was flattered beyond belief that I was invited to such an event. It was amazing. Little finger sandwiches, scones, chocolate-covered strawberries, and tea, of course. The tablecloth alone was gorgeous. (Why is it that I can't remember the last time I sat at a table that donned a tablecloth? Oh yeah, probably has something to do with my Peanuts t-shirt. Ahem.) The dishes were dainty. The company was fun, and there was a lot of laughter.
Is it OK to laugh at high tea? There weren't any guffaws. Don't recall any chortles either. Maybe some snickers. Plenty o' mirth. Just the right mix of joviality for the occasion, methinks. But, hey, this is me here. Consider the source.
A part of me has always wanted to be dignified in an Anne Shirley sort of way. Now, there's a gal I can relate to. Just enough mischief to make her interesting. Beautiful with a wild imagination. A fire in her heart and a gleam in her eye. Yet she knew how she was supposed to act in social situations. Whether or not she always carried it off with dignity, she knew.
Me? I don't quite know. I'd like to know, but I don't. I haven't been properly trained.
This is me, y'all. What you see is what you get. Hope you like it. Love me or leave me.
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