In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “RSVP.”
The brief was: ‘Give a person you are close to a wonderful day.’ Where? Who? What was served? What happened?
Due to circumstances, I don’t have anyone close to me. Ah! No, really that’s all right. I am very close to myself.
I can have a wonderful time on this trip. I can choose exactly what, and who, I want. As I’ve inferred, I’m very fond of… me. I’ve chosen the past, a long time ago when men were suave and women no better than they should be, but elegant with it.
So where? It would have to be in the south of France, possibly Biarritz. I reckon we could find a good billet there. I can see my friends sipping something super in the bar. A sumptuous bar, but a bar just the same.
Who they are is not difficult. I have always thought that I’d enjoy a pie and a pint with Noel Coward. He talks my language, well nearly. He gives an example of ‘aplomb.’ “Entering a white tie and tails party wearing an ordinary suit, a man announced: “Please, I don’t want anyone to apologize for overdressing.”
I love it.
I’d like Oscar Wilde at the table, he who was banged up in Reading Gaol. Imagine the wit! “I’m so clever,’ he’d say, ‘that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I’m saying.” While I’m smiling at that, he’ll say: “I don’t want to go to heaven; none of my friends are there.” He and Noel will then vie for the best line. I once read that my imaginary friend Noel Coward stated that love was the whole point of everything. That might put him a few points ahead.
They are both very flip and clever, but then Oscar carries the day. “You don’t love someone for their looks,” he says, “or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.” That gets me where it hurts. I have to look away.
For a female companion, it’s a no brainer, it’s Dorothy Parker. She will drink a martini of course. (Look that up!) She’ll hold her own against the wit of the men. I think I’ll explode as I hear her drawl: “You can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think.”
The food? I don’t give a damn about the food – I just don’t want to leave, but I must.
What happened? Well nothing romantic happened, we’ve all got the wrong plumbing.
This party is over now, but as Dorothy says:
“If you wear a short enough skirt, the party will come to you!”