*Scarlett*
I suffer through eight excruciating courses. When dessert is finally devoured, I'm more than ready for the moment when the men go off for a cigar and scotch while we she-wolves adjourn to the parlor for tea.
Except that is not what happens. Everyone goes to the library for a refreshment of their choice. Unfortunately, absinthe isn't available. I would have liked to chug back an entire bottle of the stuff simply to forget this horrendous night and the number of times my mother has surreptitiously pinched my arm in an attempt to convey that I need to carry on a conversation with the only eligible gentleman at the table. Her prodding serves merely to incite my obstinacy and ensure I don't speak to the gent.
Not that I can think of anything polite to say to him anyway. Everything
