All Aboard!
Says the train master with his perfectly ironed suit and his perfectly shined shoes with his perfectly mounted hat. I look down at my ticket. It's windy, so I have to use one hand to hold my bonnet in place. My man servant carries my luggage behind me. I hand the man my ticket with my white glove. I'm very tired from the carriage ride to the station and I can't wait to have some tea. I hike up my layered dress, grasp the train masters hand elegantly and step onto the train. I'm such a lady.
This Thursday night at 2am I'm taking my first train ride to Yorkton. I have this big idea of what its going to be like. I'm sure I will be disappointed and they won't have tea, and a can of pop will be 6 dollars. But, one can dream. The price last week was 86 bucks, and this week it's gone up to 100. I'm going to assume that some high society types scheduled in, so they jacked up the prices. I don't mind. It's better to be in the company of well bread people. Women with large dowries and men with manners. Men that will stand up when you walk in a room, and bow slightly while saying madam. I can see it now....
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Haha, Reverend Eric. That's funny. I read his "sermon" and I laughed.
But anyway... I hope that you have a good time on your train ride. It sounds sweeeeet. I'd like to ride a train one day, and have tea and stuff like that.
I make my way along the seats until I reach my assigned car. The window is large and gives me a glance of the workers as they load cargo on to carriages to take to market.
Fine Teas from the Orient. Sweet Jasmine and Pungent Nutmeg from Aden. Golden Rum from the Queen's lands in Jamaica. All being loaded to the open air market in exchange for the colonies grains and fine furs.
Indeed a nice day for a train ride. My handmaid prepares my dress as I take my seat. I close my umbrella and feel a slight annoyance as I detect some slight smudges on the umbrella's frills. Likely from the dust along the road during the carriage ride. Annoying to be sure, but the feeling fades as my mind turns towards my destination. York's Town. A wealthy frontier town. Known for its protruding foreheads of the local residents.
I settle in to my book. Virginia Woolf has always been good for settling my mind on long ardous trips.
Thoroughly engrossed in my story. I did not notice the calm approach of a tall stranger. I was startled and left slightly breathless when I heard the words. "Might I sit with thee milady?"
My eyes glanced upwards to see a tall man with dark, penetrating, eyes.
His coat is well made, and clean. Obviously a man of sophistication. A large moustache, waxed to points dominates his face. Most notable however was the finely crafted cane at his side. The wood was of a beautiful grain. Possible teak? I had heard that the empire now extended itself deep into the heart of the old Mali Empire. It was important for the Empire to maintain its hold on the African Subcontinent in the face of the uppity Germans clattering around their figure head Otto Von Bismarck.
I shook my head and refocused my attention. The man was looking at a lovely silver pocket watch and adjusting his monocle. Just then I heard the conductor say. "LAST BOARDING! ALL ABOARD!"
The man snapped shut the watch removed his stove pipe hat and smiled at me. "Ah yes right on time. How do you do milady? My name is Sir Lord Admiral Winston Willosby III. At your pleasure."
I released a sharp almost snort like giggle. I silently cursed myself for such an immature display. It completely wreaked of schoolgirl behaviour and I would not have a man of such fine breeding and sophistication think me that.
I beckoned for him to take a seat across from me. I introduced myself and offered my hand. He gently bowed took my hand a kissed it gently. "Rose and chamonmille. Delectable sent milady."
"I bought it on the internet! It lets me smell like the ocean!" Again I silently curse myself for appearing so silly in front of this man. Oh pity.
Either he did not notice my gaffe or pretending not to notice. He glanced at my book which was gently resting on my lap. "I notice you're reading Woolf. Did you know that I had met her?"
you're coming to YORKTON???
What time do I need to be at your sisters for supper?
YOU BETTER ASK MY SISTER THAT.
ALSO, IT'S TRADITION THAT I GO TO TRACEY JAMES FOR FRIES AND GRAVY. PERHAPS YOU COULD JOIN US.
Who is in charge???
You? or your sister?
aren't YOU the guest?
Don't you call the shots?
Yes. She calls the shots. If she tells you otherwise she is lying.
"What?" I look down. I am reading Woolf. Damn my pretenious sister and her high-falooting ways! We must have got our reading material mixed up on packing day.
I snicker a little as I picture her on her cruise through the orient reaching for her fancy-pants book and pulling out a Vogue instead, but quickly re-compose myself and say to the stranger, "Oh, yes?"
Perfect. Just the right mix of snotty arrogance and calm interest. I congratulate myself and smile cooly up at Sir Winston Whatabody.
He begins telling me a long story about running into Woolf at a skateboarding conference he attended in England last Spring... "And there, practicing a Backside Ollie with Tony Hawk..."
Oh, yeah right. Tony Hawk. Since I am now sure this guy is name dropping to impress me I begin composing a story in my head to impress him with. Who will I say I met? I know. Ghandi. No wait. Jeff Probst. No wait. Richard Simmons. Wait. Is he dead? Damn. I wish I had my Vogue with me...
Then... A crisis.
I sneeze into my fancy new satin glove and get boogers all over it. I calmy try to wipe them off on the seat beside me, but notice Sir Whatabody looking at me strangely.
Oh crap! He's expecting me to respond to something he said. "Oh! Uhhhhh... Yes, well I had heard that she wasn't a big fan Ryan Sheckler, because he is so young..."
????
Was that vague enough?
He looks at me strangely again and says, "I asked you whether you needed a hankerchief?"
Damn!
"Uhhh sure..." And then, to distract him, "Won't you sit down? I've ordered tea."
"Why I'd be happy to miss?"
"Miss what?"
"That's what I asked you."
"Why would you ask me?"
"Because I'd like to know."
"How am I supposed to know what you miss? I don't even know you!!! Jeez."
"No. I think you misunderstood me."
"Well I think you are a poop head."
"I simply meant to inquire as to your name. Miss?"
He says this last part really slowly and at the end ducks his head slowly and gestures with his hand for me to finish the sentance.
Oh crap. "Uhhhh. Oh. Sorry. Miss Braun. I'm Miss Braun."
"And I'm pleased to make your aquaintance my sweet." He picks up my hand and kisses it softly. Unfortunately, this is the hand I sneezed on, and still haven't had a chance to wipe off in all the excitement...
Also, damn my pretentious sister for trying to use words like pretentious without a spell checker.
LOL. ITS TRUE DONNA. I DO CALL THE SHOTS. WHY DON'T YOU COME OVER EVERY NIGHT? THAT WAY YOU WON'T MISS OUT.
Yes, we wouldn't want her to miss.
okay..
I am totally not following this story.. or this author...
is there going to be shooting or a fight with life savers???
Is Obi Won Kanobi his friend?
keep me posted on those weekend plans... I may need a stiff beverage by then.
sweet i love stiff things. stiff beverages...stiff sheets....you know. stiff things.
stiff upper lips?
stiff collars?
Visions of this mortifying scenario ran through my mind. Having sufficiently dealt with my worst case scenario. I took a deep breath, steeled my resolve, and looked this amazing man in the eye.
"Ms. Woolf you say? She would be one of my favourite authors. Would that I could have the chance to meet her and enjoy tea. Yes, I think I might quite like that."
"Surely you would madame. Perhaps we should enjoy some tea. Earl Grey perchance?"
I smiled and replied. "Is there any other kind of tea my good sir?"
Then we laughed... haughtily.
The train ride was a blur. It seemed like we had just left the station when we were pulling up to York's Town station.
He showed me a scrap book. Drawings of him hunting lions in Africa, wrestling a Jaguar in Bali, tales of him slaying infidel pagans in the Dutch east indies. It was all too much.
Truly a man of the world. A man's man. I detected heat in my bosum. My heart was beating quickly. We were to part ways but I felt I had known this man my whole life. I could not leave it at this. Oh please, ask me to fall in your arms for that is precisely what I will do.
He rose from his seat and helped me from mine. "Milady you make a man think the unthinkable. Forgive me for being so forward, but would you like to accompany me to Raleigh-Durham? I have a Varney Swallow awaiting me in a field over yonder. It might be a bit long in the tooth but it can fly us there in about three weeks time. Two and a half if the tail winds agree."
I felt light headed. I looked out the window to see my sister waiting impatiently for me to leave the train. Her husband the timid Duke of Battleford stood off to the left and a few feet behind. Looking down at the ground dejectedly. It was at this point that I fainted...
ha ha jayb said bosum. you're gay.
i have no idea what to write here.
what is a smarmy?
I awoke on the plane. The Hently wentworth or whatever he called it.
Apparently, my fainting excited the locals and Winston was forced to discharge his pistols in the air causing the locals to flee into the woods.
To make good on our escape he set the settlement aflame. Later on, I discovered that nobody seemed to mind that he had done this.
The next few months was a series of adventures. We dined with Steel Magnates, and Railway Tycoons. I believe I met President Coolridge. At least, I believe that was his name. Politics are not the realm of well "bread" ladies. tee hee.
We caught a steamer to the Azores and met some Portugese slavers. I found such company dreadful, but my dear Winston could blend with the commonfolk as much as high society.
We went to the Ivory Coast. I rode an ELEPHANT! and was waited on hand and foot by the locals.
My Winston was conducting business. Like any gentleman he was wiping the locals up and forcing them to find rubber in the jungles. Civilization can only be brought to savages at the end of a gun. So wise he is.
Then one day he caught Malaria and died. I sold his pocket watch for a ride home. Christmas sucked... big time.
It was at this point that I awoke at my desk. My boss was prattling on about this and that. I had orders to enter into the computer, but it was nice to dream of a far off time of fancy clothes and high society. Oh and it was nice to make belief being a lady too.
Unfortunately, this is the hand I sneezed on, and still haven't had a chance to wipe off in all the excitement...
"Oh pardon me," he says, "But I just remembered a previous engagement with... Uhhh... See ya."
Damn.
He's gone. All that is left is a fleeting memory of arrogance and show-off-ed-ness. Sigh. I will miss his mustache most I think. Oh well.
The train begins to slowly move from the station, grey puffs of steam rising up from underneath. My heart beats faster with the rhythm of the train. Chucka chucka... chucka chucka...
"Choooooo! Chooooooo!" I call out happily, drawing strange looks from the passengers around me. I quickly recover and fake sneeze a few times, "Achoo... Choo... Ahem." I nod my head, satisfied. Good cover Ang. I'm such a frickin' lady!
The train picks up speed as we reach the outskirts of Saskatoon and I gaze across the snow-covered prairies. I feel, as usual, that deep connection to my beautiful sister. It tells me that she too is gazing towards the horizon, but instead of fields of snow stretching as far as the eye can see, her gaze is focussed on the endless waves of the ocean... Sigh.
Wait! Since Becky is on a cruise how can she possibly meet me in Melville to pick me up with her very manly and brave husband Baron Von Trekkie? I'll be stranded there. I'll probably have to sleep outside and forage through the dumpsters behind Subway. Probably I'll end up finding a cold abandonned building to live in for a while... Till the citizens of Melville report the strange bag lady they keep seeing eating frozen Teriyaki Chicken subs around town to the police and I'm picked up for vagrancy. Damn that Becky! How could she do this to me? I don't want to go to jail! What will I do? This frickin' train is nothing but a ride straight to the slammer and I don't want to end up as some jailhouse whore performing "favors" for smokes! I don't even like smoking. How could Becky force me to take up smoking? I'll probably die of lung cancer too.
"*&%$! What am I going to do?" Ooops. I may have said that out loud. Now Becky has wrecked my lady persona. That's the final straw. I'll get her, if it's the last thing I do.
I know. I'll faint. It worked for Jeff... No wait. It didn't work. Or did it? I don't remember, but I need a better plan than fainting. I need...
...I need...
...a stiff upper lip! No! A stiff drink! I rush to the bar.
"Bartender! I need 4 shots of Malibu Mango stat!"
I think to myself. I love saying stat. It makes me sound important. I hope I got my point across. I down them and walk back to my seat. A warm feeling comes over me.
"That's better."
I start thinking to myself.
"Becky would never forget that I'm coming. I bet she arranged for someone to pick me up. Someone like Shirley. That would be great. Judging from her blog she cooks really well. I could stay there with her."
"Wait! Who's watching the kids! Oh no! I wonder who is watching them?"
As I sit and ponder this, I start to feel a slight buzz of the Malibu. I light up a dart.
"I might as well get used to it"
I say to myself. I start to regret wearing this silly train outfit and yearn for my sweatpants.
People start to turn in their seat to see where the smoke smell is coming from. The bartender walks over. I look at him straight in the eye.
"What do I gotta do to get another drink around here?"
What's a dart?
OH! I know that one!
Its a smoke!
a cigarette.
a 'dart'... if you're cool like Ang
yeah. only if your cool like moi.
and someday..
... I will be!
.... If I dream enough....
.... and believe enough...
... I really can be cool!...
yes donna a movie night. you should come. i make a killer ceasar. if you like them. oh who am i kidding right? if its got booze you like it.
Can't stop laughing at
"well bread people".
Hope your train ride is everything you imagined and more...
I would love a train ride, especially if I could find that well-bread man and have that experience. Well...maybe just a train ride through the Frazer Canyon would be OK. I do love change though, especially the new look to your blog. Can you make mine all pretty like that? With waterfalls and tall trees and...well, you get the picture.
I don't know why, but I thought this was Becky's blog. The part about making my blog nice is for Becky. Not that your blog doesn't look nice, Ang, but you've never offered and your sister has.
LOL at the "well bread people" comment Ang. What do they look like? Is it the size of thier buns or do they loaf around?
Have a great weekend!! I know you will.
I WILL LET YOU KNOW WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE AFTER MY TRAIN RIDE. I'M ASSUMING THEY ARE BETTER THAN A GOOD PORTION OF THE PEOPLE THAT RIDE THE BUS.
I WOULD OFFER TO FIX YOUR BLOG BUT YOU DON'T WANT ME TO DO IT. I HAVE NO CLUE HOW. BECKY DOES ALL MY STUFF FOR ME TOO. BECAUSE SHE IS SMARTER.
Yeah. I'm smrat. Don't forget it.
Aunty Susan. Stinkin' hilarious. Loaf around. Ha ha ha.
Aunty Margaret. How many times do I have to tell you to send your password etc. to my email account? You aren't getting my emails are you? I don't think you are.
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