Old Broom

If you find me buried beneath a tombstone that says ‘sophisticated’ or ‘suave’ I’ll be in someone else’s grave.  I’m not good at refined understatement or nonchalant acceptance of luxury.  I’m not used to being around Established Wealth.  I find it disconcerting.  I was wrong-footed by the realisation that this place wasn’t an office but a home.  And a grand one at that.  Astonishingly grand as far as I was concerned.  Others relaxed easily by the open fire as anonymous servants (are they called ‘servants’ anymore or is it ‘Domestic Staff’?) mulled around with discreet efficiency.  The other guests immediately blended in with the elegantly worn antique surroundings; I just felt out of place.  I couldn’t stop myself from clearing cups and saucers. If there’d been a broom handy, I’d have felt compelled to sweep away my own footsteps.  I spoke to the Domestics - something that immediately marked me out as an interloper and even they seemed to look down on me for it - “Talking to the Staff - how common.  The Mistress has such riff-raff for guests these days.”

Comments

[Moogster]

"If there’d been a broom handy, I’d have felt compelled to sweep away my own footsteps"

Brilliant!