I actually met Miss Manners for the first time at a funeral. Horrid circumstances but definitely one that requires impeccable manners. A former Washington Post reporter had sadly passed and I went along with my Dad to pay homage to his colleague. Now good things don’t usually happen at funerals, but at this particular one, I got to meet Miss Manners. Not just meet, I got to sit right next to her! That is if you don’t count my father sitting between us and hogging all the attention.
As I sat and pretended to listen to the moving words being said, I cursed myself for not starching my entire outfit. Why hadn’t I ironed creases into my tee-shirt or shined my shoes until they reflected the sun? Miss Manners was never going to like me!
While my father chatted with her about days gone by, I shuddered with joy at this lovely seating arrangement and casually jotted down a few thousand mental notes about absolutely everything Miss Manners did, said, and wore (black dress, black hat with fantastic floral flourish, black alligator purse with white kidskin gloves hanging out of the pocket just so).
Since becoming Miss Manners’ BFF, I have run into her a few times at events around town (well we are best friends) and still marvel at her high priestess of politeness ways. I do strive to be like her one day, but I should probably stop telling people they are dangerously obese when they eat carbs first.
Maybe handwriting 365 thank you notes will help my cause…