"1. See the documentary on television
2. Take seven years to get over the shock
3. Search for Aristasia and find it
4. Telephone and be terrified again by Miss Alice Trent (not that she is terrifying if you have been good but - well, speaking to her before one knows what to do or say is terrifying for even the hardiest of brunettes)
5. Go to school
6. Mount white charger and rescue mushroom in distress
7. Become a full-time Aristasian."
Full quote http://www.bluecamellia.org/phpbb/viewt
See? THIS, girls, is what the journals are for: the unfolding of true, real stories with all their attendant mystery, their everyday drama.
I, for one, am PERISHING to know more. What, for instance, happened at the end of that 7-year-long slumber? Was Miss Juliana awakened by a kiss? When the right sort of kiss has been judiciously administered, perhaps one may be inspired to set forth on one's greatest quest.
And what was terrifying about Miss Alice Trent? Was it something that she said? How I'd love to read all about that call! And how brave Miss Juliana must have been to take that fateful first step by calling her.
What was it like, going to school? What was distressing the poor mushroom, and how was the rescue accomplished?
But cruel Miss Juliana only teases us with joking little references. Phh. These brusque brunettes: what CAN one do about them?
(Crossposted to adele_poppy)
How can a true knight resist the pleas of such a charming blonde? I was saying at the club only this morning that some enterprising brunette ought to think about courting the young Poppy. **Before you all rush to do so, I am reliably informed that she is already spoken for. Such a pity! But what a lucky brunette she has.
To answer your questions:
The seven year slumber was ended only by divine intervention. I finally realised that I could no longer continue to exist in a void and simply had to do something about it. I awoke one morning and just knew that the nervousness I had of meeting Miss Martindale (and her famed accoutrements) was less terrifying than living in a non-existent world inhabited by zombies.
Not a kiss in sight, I'm afraid, my romantic young flower of the field.
Miss Trent herslf is not and was not terrifying. The prospect of speaking to such an erudite and well-spoken lady was. The strangeness of it is that Miss Trent has probably answered the telephone herself on about half a dozen occasions in her (hmhm) extensive life. She will forgive me for this but such wisdom as she possesses comes to none whose hair is not at least slightly dusted with silver.
I expected to speak to the maid, the secretary, the dustman's daughter even - but speaking to Miss Trent herself - first call - had me tongue-tied and blathering like a fool! How many of you would casually chat to Miss Trent on the telephone? I can give you her number if any is brave enough!
Thank you for your adoration young Popsicle, but you see how little I deserve it.
Going to school was - well - it was equally terrifying. I am not known for my academic brilliance on the Aristasian academic register. None of the girls in my class was a slouch!
My first class taught me how to convert bongo currency into proper currency....and how quick Miss Cadogan's hands are! The infamous Diana, bane of every mistress' life, was creating a bit of a rumpus at the rear of the room. Miss Cadogan, out of nowhere, suddenly slapped her 18 inch ruler down on my desk creating the very devil of a bang and everybody in the room jumped out of her skin. I think there is an extra piquancy in the banging of a ruler on a desk when one realises that same ruler could be equally well banged on one's person!
School, after that, was simultaneously very stimulating (thanks to a series of excellent classes taught by very lovely and interesting mistresses), amusing (thanks to the very foolhardy Beth, a clockwork rabbit and the utterly insane Diana), occasionally painful (thanks to my own inadequacy or inattention and the presence of a cane hanging on the wall - or not hanging on the wall as the case may be), and beneficial (as the aforementioned elements combined to form a single experience).
Miss Poppy, I advise you to try going to school if ever you have the opportunity. Blondes can be awfully naughty and I would be willing to bet that you would rival Beth for classroom antics!
The mushroom was distressed due to the lack of a brunette to buy her ice-cream and chocolate. What other source of distress do blonde mushrooms have?
The rescue was only accomplished after seventeen hours of questing from one end of the country to the other. I arrived with Flowers and champagne on her birthday. The mushroom was dressed in a Quirrie cocktail dress with one of those terribly becoming backwards scarves that people with long, slender necks wear so very well. We talked all night and I was exhausted when I finally managed to get home the next day.
So now you have the whole story and all your questions are answered, O source of opium and pretty petals!
If ever I can satisfy your curiosity again, please do not hesitate to ask.
Miss Juliana xxxxxxxxx - these ONLY for Miss Poppy!
What a delightful story, Miss Juliana! I had a similar type of very-long-wait until I realised the whole "Hmm, I rather like girls who are girls and not bee-oh-whys!" bit, but obviously I've gotten past that. ;-)
And what a charming bit about the Blonde in Distress. I do love hearing stories like that, and hope we'll perhaps hear more about your escapades on your own journal?
Dear Miss Juliana,
Thank you for your very kind response to my capricious demands. I reread my post and am a little ashamed that I sounded so petulant. But not very ashamed; not enough to "take it back," as they say.
While it is extremely gratifying to be showered with compliments and attention--I can think of few things as gratifying as attention and compliments, and, really, you are very generous with both--my curiosity, like the Elephant child's, remains 'satiable as ever.
But now you dust off your hands, say to yourself, "Well, that's out of the way," and you vault back onto your white steed and charge off to do other brunettish, checklisty things. Don't deny it. That's how it always is with brunettes; just when one is ready to settle down for a long cozy chat (with the multitudes of little details so beloved by the blonde heart) they suddenly have to get unfathomably practical.
So, are there other pettes in elektraspace as wonderfully qualified to tell of their growing involvement in Aristasian society, however gradual or intermittent the process may have been? I tend to think there are, given the literary abilities exhibited so far by...well, by all the the fabulous Moderatresses of http://www.bluecamellia.org/phpbb/viewf
But, aside from "The Feminine Regime" with its regrettable "niche" emphasis on punishment--oh, we all understand why it was necessary--there are no books that describe a maid's fascinating ascent into Aristasian life. None that aren't couched in fiction, anyway. I yearn to hear the real stories! Or maybe fictional ones couched in reality. But you know what I mean: the details. Powdered, perfumed, softly and sweetly tumultuous, warm, girly details!
And not that sort of detail, either. I want the interesting sort of detail, the sort that tells of awakening to, and then overcoming, the adversities of living in the blank grave of the Pit, and the flowering of one's true self in Aristasia, of those enormous momentous, invisible internal challenges and adventures one must face.
Could someone please write about all of that? Thanks.
I'll just sit here quietly and wait for it.
(Crossposted to adele_poppy)