The Rich/Mrs. R G Razia

Carine and I were having a non-lunch the other day, at one of our favourite places to not eat- Quintette du Hot Club de France (they do a divine diet Coke). We were discussing the usual- J.D's death, Nabokov being dead for quite a bit longer and Lester Bangs continuing to write me stalkeresque letters from beyond the grave. Oh, and beheading people. It works quite well- it even works for the peasants! A kind of universal way of doing things, free of class- like Coca Cola. All beheadings are the same. The president of the United States of America can behead somebody, Elizabeth Taylor can behead somebody, a bum can behead somebody.

Anyway, about half an hour into our conversation, a woman named Regina G Razia came up to Carine. She's an old sort of socialite, the kind who looks like they're going to fall leopard skin pillbox hat-first into their grave. Every pore of her is filled with botox.

"OH MY GOD CARINE. ARE YOU WEARING PINK ON A TUESDAY?"

"..Excuse me?"

"I SAID: ARE YOU WEARING PINK ON A TUESDAY? IT'S PINK ON WEDNESDAYS, GOSH." "Well. I'm actually wearing black, but anyway.."

"I'M GOING TO WRITE ABOUT THIS IN MY MAGAZINE! THERE'LL BE A SCANDAL. A SCANDAL, I TELL YOU."

"Mrs. Razia, I don't believe you have a magazine."

"WELL...A BLOG" "A blog, hm?" I said.

"I JUST GOT ONE ON BLOGSPOT. IT'S ALREADY GOT TWENTY HITS. YOU'LL ALL SEE! YOU'LL RUE THE DAY YOU WORE PINK ON A TUESDAY! IT'S JUST SIMPLE ETIQUETTE."

"The rich. They're not like us" I said to Carine, as I blew my nose on my Hermès handkerchief.