Bumping and grinding
I married recently at an extremely smart venue and it was a truly wonderful day. All ran smoothly until the dancing. The issue here became my step-mother, who is not exactly in the first flush and who doesn’t normally drink. She didn’t so much fall off the wagon as hurl herself off it.
Now the twerking we could have coped with, even when the vicar popped in for a celebratory glass. The flirting with the groom we could also overlook (I’m not the jealous type, and she does not induce jealousy, believe me).
But what I struggled with was when I found half the guests filming her on their phones as she swayed on the dance floor, bumping and grinding, legs wide apart, groaning, one hand running through her hair, the other going up and down over her crotch Michael Jackson syle in the kind of rapturous joy that Bill Cash might display reading an article in The Spectator on some obscure EU directive.
I somehow imagine that with your imperious manner, Henrietta, you would have known precisely how to put her in her place. I just stood there, gawping, whimpering faintly. My friends have ignored the wedding and talked of little else, while the vicar didn’t make it to evensong and has scarcely been seen since.
Henrietta’s reply: You should have taken the microphone and announced: “This has been a glorious day but this is perhaps the best part of all: I’m sorry, but as many of you know I have long harboured a weakness for pranks, and you have all fallen for my joke. I’m afraid this, er, lady is not really my step-mother. I actually hired her from a talent agency. Well, I use the word “talent” loosely, and let’s be honest, there is little looser than Betsy-Loo. For you might not recognise her at her advanced age and in her condition, but she was actually the star back in the very distant day of Daisy Does Dallas. She groans so much because she has barely been able to sit down since. Now, what I want you all to do now – and this is all agreed and included in her fee – is hurl dear Betsy-Loo in the lake to cool her off. And thank you so much Betsy-Loo, you are a great actress and played the role of tart to perfection. Really, its uncanny. Now, my friends, to the lake.” Your guests would have thought you the coolest bride of the century. Step-mum? Not so much…
Just how affordable?
Affordable housing in one’s own village – does one approve?
Henrietta’s reply: Yes, as long as it’s not TOO affordable, and not too close to one’s own unaffordable house and grounds.
I was taken to Wimbledon by a gorgeous man and I was quite expecting to serve myself up afterwards. But we had scarcely reached the first set tie-breaker when he announced: “I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to have to make love to you now.” I was shocked, and left before he had time to pepper my baseline. But now I wonder if I was being a prude. Would you have blocked his passing shot Henrietta?
Henrietta’s reply: Only if it was on one of the show courts, preferably centre. A lady has to maintain standards. There is no point serving up a full five-setter without a decent audience. Besides, the outside courts are full of the type of people who bring their own sandwiches. If I were you, seeing as your admirer missed out at Wimbledon, I would drop him a text, making an offer he surely won’t refuse: “I’ll come round to yours with the strawberries. I’m sure you can provide the cream… X”
For richer or poorer?
I love the glamour of weddings but my daughter’s experience of getting hitched in the West Country has left me angry. So a male friend of hers called off his wedding – it was when the couple ran into an old friend of the “bride”, who blurted out “so how long have you been living as a woman?” – and this created a vacancy at the venue. So my daughter suggested taking over the booking. But no: her male friend was apparently not entitled to his money back, and my daughter would have to pay in full. With so many other venues full – she needs to be married in a hurry, if you get my drift – my daughter decided to go ahead. But since then she has been shocked how grasping the venue is. So my daughter has been trying to source as much stuff herself. To give you just one example, she wants some ivy draped round the bannisters for when she walks down the steps. The venue’s price? £125. On eBay? £5 plus P&P.
What would you do Henrietta?
Henrietta’s reply: Run away. The cost of marriage is high enough in wasted years without being charged twice for it. My first husband promised me a white wedding, and he was true to his word on that at least: I’ve never had so much coke. The worst of my weddings was the grandest, when the gossip columns branded a part of the church “the loose box”, owing to the large contingent of braying fillies who had previously – actually, not just previously – been ridden by my husband. Wedding number five was the only one I don’t regret: it is the one I haven’t yet had. But there are some much better venues in Sussex – my good friend Lady C hires out her castle and it is a bargain.
Why are men obsessed with oral?
Henrietta’s reply: One of my husbands used to say it was the only time he got a bit of peace and quiet, because it was the only time I had to stop talking…
Fitbit or thick b*tch?
What do you make of this new craze for Fitbits? All my friends are moving around like they have ants in their thongs. At work they constantly pretend to be getting a file, or a glass of water, or going to the loo – just so they can keep moving. It can be midnight when one of them posts on Facebook they have done another thousand steps, and suddenly the lights go on across the village and all the women are walking up and down stairs. Husband says if only they invented a Fitbit for horizontal walking there might be some point to “yet another infernal gadget”. Thoughts?
Henrietta’s reply: That’s just the problem, dear, “thoughts”, or lack of. I have met the kind of women you generously class as “friends”. And these women don’t think. They might have Fitbits, but they have flabby brains. The only time they deploy the word “book” is in a sentence which also includes the words “table” and “for two”. Maybe you should buy them an intellectual exercise machine: a novel. They will certainly find it a novel experience.
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