English to English

So, I don’t think I will ever be a member of polite society—if I’m lucky, maybe a member of the creative class. Had dinner with the Master and the other fellows of my college and of course my senior sponsor is some high ranking college official—I guess they didn’t get the memo about the lack of acculturation of my opinionated LI roots. Is there a polite way to stand as a guy comes within three inches of your chest to read (very slowly) your name?

Of course what do I steer the conversation towards, despite his research interests in environmental policy? Yes, you guessed it, how much it sucks to be a single girl in NYC. Granted I was talking about it from the perspective of a sociologist and how the concept of love has been lost but, I still alluded to my lack of ability to keep myself in a committed relationship for any period of my twenty-four (almost –five!) years and how I wouldn’t wish jdate on my worst enemy.

And then I tried to discuss the idea that cultural diffusion follows foreign investment. I guess it must be a very American idea. But I was only trying to explain the Coca-Cola phenomena, to a very prideful Brit.

My dreams to marry a member of the landed gentry have been shattered. Yea, I will never be a member of the British upper class. I mean, I couldn’t’ even hack dinner conversations in the ad world with low level brand managers and “special” vendors who were paid to kiss my ass.

So I took long gulps of my red wine, and smiled. A lot.

And evidently “smart casual” in this country doesn’t include leggings, a tunic, and a long sweater coat with a pair of four inch heels. I was a vision in SoHo chic as everyone around me was in shirts and ties, and pencil skirts and cardigans.

So not only did my dinner conversation not fly, but I was dressed like I just came from an underground Art gallery opening. Oh yea, and I was hoarding food. I’m a fucking class act.

But the high point of the day, besides the fucking HOTT stats professor, the newspaper loved my story ideas—of course I volunteered to write about my (lack of) sex life in this country. So I guess I am sacrificing my integrity in the hopes of assembling Carrie Brashaw-esque clips for my return to NYC. Let’s hope it works.