There was an article in yesterday’s Telegraph—an advice column, I think—that, quite simply, erases the entire section of the space-time continuum between the Regency and the twenty-first century. It’s easy: snip-snip, stick-stick, and here we are! The link has disappeared, but some inquiring British mind wanted to know:
How can I stop village gossips from talking about me?
Well.
First of all, you have village gossips? That’s so cool! Man, between Cadbury chocolate and this, England’s kicking our butts, awesome-wise.
Also, based on her experiences with people doing ridiculous things—or not—and then getting talked about, I think Jane might have some suggestions for you:
- If he seems cute and nice, run away. And we don’t mean with him—clearly he’s run off with some fifteen-year-old’s honor, lied about wanting to be a priest (avoid that lightning bolt), is drowning in gambling debts, and is also hitting on your sister.
- If you’re male, be poor. If you can’t be poor, don’t talk about your salary. For, you know, whatever it is you do all day.
- If you have sisters, try to be the least awful one. Do you really ever hear anybody talking about poor Kitty?
- Don’t marry a creep just for the sake of marrying, Charlotte.
- Don’t horn in on a rich old lady’s plans for her studly and equally rich nephew. News does tend to travel.
If these seem unmanageable, well, maybe you deserve a bit of chatter. Or you can just take the opposite tack: do what you want, see what happens, and get somebody to write a timeless novel about you.
That’s gotta shut ‘em up.
Tagged: Charlotte Lucas, Daily Telegraph, Jane Austen, Kitty Bennet, Lydia Bennet, Mr. Wickham, Pride and Prejudice on Wednesday, July 28, 2010 · 4 Comments »
“That’s gotta shut ‘em up.” Yes, because they’ll all be moldering in their graves. Ha ha [cue bratty Simpsons kid's voice]
I’d also like to add, from the immortal Oscar Wilde: “There is only one thing worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.”
“Man, between Cadbury chocolate and this, England’s kicking our butts, awesome-wise.”
I’m really sorry to tell you this, but Cadbury’s is now owned by Kraft. So really Cadbury may claim to be British, but it’s ours now.
“If he seems cute and nice, run away. And we don’t mean with him—clearly he’s run off with some fifteen-year-old’s honor, lied about wanting to be a priest (avoid that lightning bolt), is drowning in gambling debts, and is also hitting on your sister.”
This is the best thing I’ve read all day. Maybe all week.
That Fond Impossibility – That is HEARTBREAKING, though I actually feel worse for the Brits. What will they do if we start messing with their above-par chocolate? Sigh.
E.M. – Why, thank you! Sweet.