A plan is Afoot

Look at me. I am the product of an over-indugent lifestyle. Cocktail hours that turn into days, cookouts that become a major stepping stone to feeding Dufar with leftovers, and the inability to say, "No".

I have to wear dresses like this to hide unsightly bulges brought on by sinister forces like The Countess Bedelia. I never eat dessert; I always felt that if you didn't accomplish everything you set out to do during a dinner, dessert is not going to redraw the map of Europe. To my dying day, I will attest that it was she who put the chocolate cream pie in my face on the fainting couch. Like all good, ex-KGB agents her soft hands glided down my sweaty cheeks and said, "Have a piece; it will make you feel better." I downed it under duress; she stole the plans for a new battleship.

I am embarking on The Astor Diet, (soon to be published). One aspect of it is that not one drink can be taken before four in the aftermoon. (I know this will bar me from several Ladies of Quality Clubs, but I have some fierce viels.) With The Countess du Barry due to arrive in late January all culinary hell will break loose, and I will be a maiden strapped to the mast of a great culinary ship trying to survive by turning down all that we know will be offered. I have other options, too. (It was suggested by a court rival that I check myself into a convent for the period; I, instead, got myself posted as a page-turner for the boys' choir.)
No matter, visit of du Barry has already resulted in a grand dinner and celebration named, "Tiaras at The Palace" and will be held in our new room. Great things await.