“I believe in the rare, the extravagant, the utmost of everything. I don’t believe in the middle of the road because I don’t think it’s good company. I think if you live in a rarefied, marvelous atmosphere, you’re happier.” Amen, Diana. 


Why don’t you clean a room so thoroughly that it startles you? You feel so at peace when your heart races at the sight of what appears to be a windowless window, but suddenly you remember it’s not missing, it’s simply spotless. I cleaned every inch of my living room yesterday, not that it was a pit or anything, but cat hair and dust do love to show on glass top coffee tables — never buy those. With everything spotless, I feel like I’m in a hotel, and that’s really all I’ve ever wanted.


Why don’t you always have hundreds of tea lights on hand? Tea lights are absurdly inexpensive and give off an atmospheric glow. I like to put them in the bottom of pretty candle jars that I’ve already burned. The flickering makes me feel like I’ve got one of those luxurious Anthropologie candles burning again. Of course there’s no scent, but that dance of flame is divine. And when you light an absolutely absurd amount, you’ll think you’re just the most glamorous person in the entire world. 


Why don’t you restore your white laundry that’s no longer so white? I spent too much money on a set of gorgeous towels that are luxurious and soft and brilliantly white so that I would feel like I lived in a hotel. (As I’ve mentioned, this is a serious ambition of mine.) These linens thrilled me until they started taking on this hideous pale tan hue. Nothing seemed to fix them and I was about so enraged I was prepared to set them ablaze. Thankfully, my mother bought me every variety of white boosting laundry product at the shops and after some experimentation, my towels are back to perfect. I’m so happy. It’s brought me such peace. You deserve a perfectly white and crisply folded towel, reader. You really do.


Why don’t you build a time machine and go back to the early 1950s and urge Agatha Christie to stop writing Destination Unknown because it’s the worst thing she ever did? I mean…if you have a time machine, there are some obvious other issues to address: save Princess Diana, figure out the Hitler issue, introduce germ theory way earlier, find out if the Hanging Towers of Babylon are mythological or based in reality. But when you’re finished, tell Agatha to shred the manuscript. Just tear it to pieces. I love most of her work, but this was an embarrassment. (And I mean, obvi, good on you Agatha for being literally the best read author in human history, so my comments are silly. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )


Why don’t you start watching Martha Knows Best on HGTV? It’s honestly some of the most riveting and hilarious television I’ve ever watched. It’s all about Martha Stewart planting, and I quote, “a hundred and fifty f**king acres!” with the staff she’s quarantined with. There’s the gardener, Ryan, and the housekeeper, Elvira, and of course Carlos, her driver. They spend the day on Martha’s estate in Bedford working and drinking—again I’m serious—Martharita’s. Later in the show, Martha insults people who send her videos and then Facetimes with unwitting strangers whom she charmingly shames. Best of all, though, is when she calls a celebrity friend. When she and Snoop were chatting about pots, it was simply the most beautiful conversation and clearly true friendship. Stunning to see. For me, I love when the calls are over, though, and she dismisses her friend with,  “bye bye, darling.” It’s so elegant and unexpected from her. I gasp in delighted shock every single time. It’s shockingly intimate. She’s more fabulous than I ever dared to dream.

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