As a young woman, and especially as a young wife and mother, who wanted to do everything just right, I pored over Amy Vanderbilt's etiquette book for hours.
Some of the etiquette seemed set in a world I would never visit, but I studied it nonethless. A few gems were of practical use, such as the fact that asparagus could be eaten with one's fingers, and that crisp bacon could, too. Chicken with BONES is never served at a formal meal. Restaurants take note.
Something that never came up, because it was so far beyond the etiquette pale, was blowing one's nose into one's napkin. I have seen otherwise well-bred people do this. One of my author friends has a very starchy old matron doing it. God, I think they were even cloth napkins.
Now I would not be one of the finger pointers if someone gave their nose a discreet wipe at the end of the meal, post-hand wipe, so to speak. But to give a big honk into one's napkin strikes me as the acme of crudity and boorishness. I mean, really.
We watched La Dolce Vita last night, after a long absence. I think of the movie because of its portrayal of all the bored Italian aristocrats who may or may not have had good manners during their shennigans. The word debauched comes to mind. Is there still debauchery or have so-called celebrities brought even debauchery low. I hope not. Debauchery still interests me, in an, alas, academic sort of way. Anita Ekberg and Marcel Maistroianni (spelling?) were superb. I had forgotten some of the scenes, but they all came back.
No one, I am pleased to report, no mattter how drunk or debauched, blew his or her nose into the napkin. Hooray for Amy Vanderbilt. Pass the asparagus!
Grapeshot
Some of the etiquette seemed set in a world I would never visit, but I studied it nonethless. A few gems were of practical use, such as the fact that asparagus could be eaten with one's fingers, and that crisp bacon could, too. Chicken with BONES is never served at a formal meal. Restaurants take note.
Something that never came up, because it was so far beyond the etiquette pale, was blowing one's nose into one's napkin. I have seen otherwise well-bred people do this. One of my author friends has a very starchy old matron doing it. God, I think they were even cloth napkins.
Now I would not be one of the finger pointers if someone gave their nose a discreet wipe at the end of the meal, post-hand wipe, so to speak. But to give a big honk into one's napkin strikes me as the acme of crudity and boorishness. I mean, really.
We watched La Dolce Vita last night, after a long absence. I think of the movie because of its portrayal of all the bored Italian aristocrats who may or may not have had good manners during their shennigans. The word debauched comes to mind. Is there still debauchery or have so-called celebrities brought even debauchery low. I hope not. Debauchery still interests me, in an, alas, academic sort of way. Anita Ekberg and Marcel Maistroianni (spelling?) were superb. I had forgotten some of the scenes, but they all came back.
No one, I am pleased to report, no mattter how drunk or debauched, blew his or her nose into the napkin. Hooray for Amy Vanderbilt. Pass the asparagus!
Grapeshot
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