When it was Amelia and Dag Arbuthnot’s turn to host the dinner, their gorgeous Tudor home in Buckhead was a perfect setting. Amelia’s concept (because she has concepts!!) for the evening was a dinner inspired by Olde Worlde English Yuletide traditions (to set the mood, Dag lustfully whipped the younges
(more)t females of the staff with a smartly plaited riding crop made from reclaimed Victorian leather) with a hint of rustic elegance (just a hint mind you, nothing filthy). Amelia cleverly (she's a fucking genius) turned an upstairs sitting room that had walls covered in a cheery scarlet Laughton & Tout toile (I don't know what this is, but it makes me retch into my fist) into a dining room for the night as gifts from Santa (how charmingly infantile) , carefully wrapped in coordinating colors (like red and fucking green, you mean?) , were piled high on a pair of red tole-painted ("tole" means that there are paintings of flowers on it for the unwashed philistines who might be reading) chairs for all who had been naughty and nice. (Everyone has been super nice, right Amelia? Especially you to all those service workers who you spend so much of your husband's money enlisted in fostering the illusion that your existence is one of a rapturously spiraling, diaphanous swirl of grace and refinement with your pulled and puckered face at the galactic center, who you then treat like shit when your child-like whimsy reverses itself and you stop payment and all the little people have to pick up the pieces. But at least you're happy, Amelia. Aren't you happy, Amelia? Amelia?)
*toile is a fabric. The Arbuthnot's walls have cloth on them, not paper, which is much better at muffling the sound of slamming doors and burns more quickly.(less)
