January 28, 2002
Of what do people think, when they think of Sir Charles Grandiose? Yes, answers spring to the tongues of many. They think of style unparalleled, of wit unchallenged. They think of poise, of charm, of a lovable old baronet with a winsome smile who brings many a smile to young women and men in their own domiciles, and who brings many a handful of young women into his own home. They think of good, solid traditions upheld.
Others may think of the ever-graceful Lady Felicia, or of young Penelope Windsor-Smythe and her silver convertible Rolls. Still others might dwell, with a yearning smile upon their lips, upon one's massive erection in the small village of Fishampton, the manor Blandsdown.
But has anyone ever associated Sir Charles Grandiose with fashionable 'duds' at a reasonable price? Not until this memorable and historic day, they have not!
Thanks to extensive negotiations with a highly regarded "sweatshop" located in the lower Antilles, one is glad to present one's exclusive line of fine clothing and accessories in one's new store:
Yes, visiting one's new store will give the discerning reader and shopping a bewildering variety of choices of clothing to wear for that trip to the "maul" or to the local "Taco Bell." Will the gentleman wear his Memoirs of the Raj Boxer Shorts or his "Sweat" Shirt? Or perhaps both?
Any fine lady of quality will be sure to attract envious stares when she steps outdoors in her Laws of the Iceberg T-Shirt carrying her Sir Charles "Tote" Bag. And who among us would not want to be seen in the fashionable hot spots around town sipping a fizzy drink from the Sir Charles Deluxe Beverage Container?
These and many other soon-to-be-cult-collector's-items are now available at one's little pied a ecommerce terre, suitable for gift-giving on any fancy occasion. Why not commemorate that next birthday or bris with a Sir Charles Cricket and Rounders Cap today?
One knows well how much one's readers love one. Why not show it with your support, today?
Counting the pence, one remains for yet another fortnight,
Postscript: One's secretary begs one to stress that yes, these items really are for sale and that what small proceeds there are will go for the upkeep and maintenance of Advice for Sir Charles Grandiose.
The gentleman I have been keeping company with for the last decade has finally proposed.
Before I give my answer, I need to know: do my Precious Moments figurines go with his Thomas Kincaide prints (some of which have been highlighted)?
Wondering in Wimbleton
Sir Charles replies:
First, congratulations are in order. Goodness gracious, how fortunate you are to have landed your first proposal at the mere age of . . . Let one guess. Forty-four? Forty-five?
After some mild degree of consideration one has decided that indeed, your Precious Moments figurines and the Thomas Kincaide prints should go quite well.
Into the rubbish bin, that is. And as quickly as possible.
On the off chance that abominable taste is genetic in origin, would the correspondent and her husband-to-be seriously consider the notion of keeping the marriage celibate? A nation of upright citizens who shun velvet Elvis paintings thanks you in advance.
Advising the correspondent to purchase a "sweat" shirt immediately, one remains,
Dear Sir Charles,
There is one problem I have during this month of the year, and that is "resolutions." However, I would like to state that the issue is not my resolutions, it is my dear mother.
This year I limit my list to seventy-six resolutions, the main three being to lose five pounds, cut down on my haircuts to only twice a month (thrice being acceptable), and purchase that dear little 10,000 sq.-foot house that I have been calling my "significant other" to my many and bothersome callers. I feel I could do all of these things in one year, provided my mother find her own flat. Yes, she has been living with me of late due to an unfortunate incident at work. (She would rather me not elaborate.) I feel I am at a state where I need the freedom to experience the world on my own, but every turn I make, there is Mother, and not only that, she is the sort of mother that buys her clothes wherever she buys her fags. ("It's less expensive by far, darling.") Oh, how terribly frightening.
So you see, to purchase my house and to go to the hair salon three times a month, even if that is cutting back, will be difficult, if not impossible, for me to do with Mother breathing down my neck.
What am I to do?
Sir Charles replies:
Dear young lady,
One applauds the correspondent's decision to improve herself by means of the New Year's Resolution. How honorable it is to try to improve! What a sign it is of a spirit yearning and struggling to achieve a perfection that is ever out of reach! What a challenge it is to mind and soul! How exalted! How admirable!
However, when one is already a pinnacle of perfection, as is oneself, one never needs New Year's Resolutions. One therefore writes them for one's wife, ward, and the servants, has them handsomely leather bound, and then presents the weighty tomes to the appropriate personages on Boxing Day, so that they might start early. 'Tis a kindness, really.
As for the correspondent's mother, why not do what one did oneself? Throw the old biddy in a Home for the Aged with all the other crinklies.
Noting that a mouse pad makes a fine gift for the old mater, one remains,
Dear Chuck G.
Which is better to serve at banquets and stuff? Cheezits or Cheese-Nips?
And then my next question is which wine is best with which of those?
Sir Charles replies:
My dear Mr. N.,
Aren't these Memoirs of the Raj Boxer Shorts quite a fine item? Don't you wish you had a pair?
One asks, Mr. N.--may one call you Bob? Is that 'short' for 'bobbing up and down like flotsam on the Great Sewage Drain of Life'?--because one suspects you're a y-fronts man. Tighty whiteys, eh? Gets a bit bunched up down there, doesn't it? A bit uncomfortable? One bets you give the waistband a bit of a tug now and again?
Try the boxers, my lad. Let those gentlemen swing. One guarantees that it will increase the dribble of blood to your starved brain to a small trickle.
Wishing the best of luck for your banquets and 'stuff,' as you'll need every ounce, one remains,