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Cape May

Nothing Ever Happens On My Blog

Our bookshelves, ourselves

So here we are on a Sunday evening with no new Downton Abbey episode to look forward to. Life is harder than it looks–especially without all those servants and such. I suggest you don’t look at all. When one does, it’s not pretty.

It has come to my attention, especially when I am on the treadmill watching the morning news shows, that I have the answer to our unemployment troubles. Bring back the valets! There are just too many men on television who are in need of a good brushing off before they start spouting off.  I’m talking to you, Mike Barnicle! Tom Brokaw, too, I’m afraid. High Definition Television is doing no favors to those on TV and to those of us out in the hinterlands. I can see your dandruff. Your nose hairs, ear hairs, gunk in your eyes and spots on your sweaters. I don’t mean to pick on particular folk, and god knows I’d not do well under anyone’s scrutiny, but I avoid looking in the mirror early in the morning for good reason. I certainly don’t want to be subjected to visions on the television screen that are even more disconcerting. Thomas or Mr. Bates or even Mr. Molesley are what’s wanted ’round here! I get the point of their incessant shoulder brushing of Lord Grantham and Matthew Crawley’s suits and sport coats.

A valet in every house....

A valet in every house….

Think of the jobs there’d be. Especially if even the window guy at a big box home improvement store who has the unfortunate situation of an untamed mustache growing into his nose hairs–and vice versa–could get a valet. Be warned, once you start looking for unkempt men, the men in your own life might not look so bad.