|Lost in Austen (definitely not my favorite, but terribly relevant). (x)|
Sitting down to brunch with friends this Sunday, conversation soon turned to the opposite sex as it oh so inevitably and deliciously does in the company of five single ladies. With our recent tales of woe, the all-too-familiar words were uncontrollably spilling out of my mouth before I knew it. "I was born in the wrong century." The phrase might as well be branded on my arm because I've nearly worn the words out I've spoken them so many times.
Now the reaction to these words can go one of two ways. First is the eye roll or laugh of incredulity. You? Survive a world sans internet access? Where they bled you if they thought anything was wrong with you? Where you might have been married off to the first rich yet philandering suitor who came your way? To some, there is nothing romantic about the past except the fantasies I (and the BBC) have personally thrust upon it. I am incurably brainwashed, pining for a reality of my own making. There may be some truth to that, but in the end we have to agree to disagree.
Luckily, at this particular juncture, I was surrounded by friends who smiled and nodded sympathetically in agreement. Although they threaten to drag me to horrifying events like speed dating, they know I am as old-fashioned as they come. Because so much about the modern world we live in rubs me the wrong way. We've all seen the e-card, "Noah wrote Allie 365 letters so I think you can answer my text message." Despite the facts that I have never been texting's biggest fan, am not cute via text, sit there stressing over how soon is too soon to respond, capitalize and punctuate, I just plain don't understand a world where this has come to replace human interaction. And considering how much spelling mistakes despite built-in spell check get on my nerves, it's probably best for my suitors to pick up the phone anyway. What if the articulate Marius wrote love letters full of spelling mistakes to Cosette? Do you think she'd have been so quick to ditch her lavish lifestyle for a revolutionary life ripping up cobblestones? Non!
I can laugh at myself knowing full well that given the chance, my standards would require a man to send his butler over with a calling card before approaching me at the bar. I will adjust myself accordingly to these situations, but there are some things I just can't get over. The other day I was walking into my building, three steps behind a man. Maybe he was in a rush, maybe I finally have proof beyond lack of sweet tea that Maryland is not the South, but when a guy lets a door slam in your face first thing in the morning, that's not a great way to start the day. It's called common courtesy. Making an effort even! How did I wind up in a world where this is becoming the norm? Where are my brass knuckles when I need them?
|Still... I wouldn't say no! (x)|
What I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is if you were also "born in the wrong century," don't let the rest of the world get you down or guilt-trip you into compromising. You are classy and strong, funny and bright, and you deserve the very best! Don't give up the ship! In the end, you will find yourself in the arms of your very own Horatio Hornblower!
|See how he's holding out for you and holding on for dear life and swashbuckling all at once?! A man of many talents! (x)|
I don't know about you, but that screams worth the wait to me! Said wait may include a plague of non-princely frogs, but tant pis. Anyway, thank you, dear readers, for letting me get that off my chest. Until next time...