There was an article in yesterday’s Telegraph—an advice column, I think—that, quite simply, erases the entire section of the space-time continuum between the Regency and the twenty-first century. It’s easy: snip-snip, stick-stick, and here we are! The link has disappeared, but some inquiring British mind wanted to know:
How can I stop village gossips from talking about me?
Well.
First of all, you have village gossips? That’s so cool! Man, between Cadbury chocolate and this, England’s kicking our butts, awesome-wise.
Also, based on her experiences with people doing ridiculous things—or not—and then getting talked about, I think Jane might have some suggestions for you:
– If he seems cute and nice, run away. And we don’t mean with him—clearly he’s run off with some fifteen-year-old’s honor, lied about wanting to be a priest (avoid that lightning bolt), is drowning in gambling debts, and is also hitting on your sister.
– If you’re male, be poor. If you can’t be poor, don’t talk about your salary. For, you know, whatever it is you do all day.
– If you have sisters, try to be the least awful one. Do you really ever hear anybody talking about poor Kitty?
– Don’t marry a creep just for the sake of marrying, Charlotte.
– Don’t horn in on a rich old lady’s plans for her studly and equally rich nephew. News does tend to travel.
If these seem unmanageable, well, maybe you deserve a bit of chatter. Or you can just take the opposite tack: do what you want, see what happens, and get somebody to write a timeless novel about you.
That’s gotta shut ’em up.
austenacious 
“That’s gotta shut ‘em up.” Yes, because they’ll all be moldering in their graves. Ha ha [cue bratty Simpsons kid’s voice]
I’d also like to add, from the immortal Oscar Wilde: “There is only one thing worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.”
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“Man, between Cadbury chocolate and this, England’s kicking our butts, awesome-wise.”
I’m really sorry to tell you this, but Cadbury’s is now owned by Kraft. So really Cadbury may claim to be British, but it’s ours now.
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“If he seems cute and nice, run away. And we don’t mean with him—clearly he’s run off with some fifteen-year-old’s honor, lied about wanting to be a priest (avoid that lightning bolt), is drowning in gambling debts, and is also hitting on your sister.”
This is the best thing I’ve read all day. Maybe all week.
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That Fond Impossibility – That is HEARTBREAKING, though I actually feel worse for the Brits. What will they do if we start messing with their above-par chocolate? Sigh.
E.M. – Why, thank you! Sweet.
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