Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Lord Richard Gladly's Etiquette Tips #1

For those with a taste for the finer things, the world can be a much more difficult place, especially if one finds oneself in less than equal company. Recently, I faced a difficult question: How does a man of the world decline an invitation from one's less worldly friends? Surprising as it may sound, I do cultivate friendly relationships with people from the classes beneath me. I consider it a charity akin to Angelina Jolie's baby adopting/breaking/re-forming in her own image.

The other day, I had to decline a cute but absurd invitation to a local sushi hut, the kind where customers drink like the animal they're eating. My good friend Eugene and I already had plans to visit one of our favorite sushi restaurants: a place authentic enough to serve decent sashimi, yet sensible enough to let us keep our shoes on (Eugene has tender feet). My letter declining the invitation addressed the issue tastefully and tactfully:


My good sirs,

Thank you ever so much for demonstrating your desire for me to "hang out" with you on Thursday; I'm sure it will be a transcendentally fishy experience. However, I must forego the usual pleasantries and ask that you please cease and desist! Your pitiful pleas fall on deaf - albeit exquisitely shaped - ears.

You see, Eugene and I have a taste for the finer things. As such, we seek what's finest at every turn. Long ago, we decided that we would dine at Yume Sushi. It is an obscure little spot, tucked away in the back alleys of Alameda, offering one of the most authentic sushi experiences in the Bay Area. It is so small (and exclusive) they can only seat parties of two at a time. Will we have to wait an hour before being seated? Quite possibly. Will we be at the beck and call of Hideki, master su-chef? Certainly. Will it all be worth it in order to hob nob with tunatics, rub shoulders with blue-finatics, and schmooze with the roe-ing team? Most definitely.

I cannot help but smirk at the thought that, as Danny chokes down yet another stale California roll, I will be nibbling on munkfish liver and delicate toro. Now, I must get back to my roadster; my knuckles yearn for the supple touch of kid leather gloves. Also, I wouldn't want the blonde in the passenger seat to go without having her hair blown about.

Cheerio boys,
Rich

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