Pip-Pip, Old Chap

Much Older Sister, Younger Sister, and me. Or maybe not.

Being sick has its downside. The aching. The sneezing. The endless nose-blowing and Kleenex-throwing-away-ing. This particular episode of the epizooties has had a definite upside as well, though: I've discovered Downton Abbey.

I know exactly what you're thinking-- Where have I been for the past two years and has anyone ever come quite so late to such a good party? The answers to these questions are "busy watching Cupcake Wars" and "no."

I'd heard of this PBS series, but because my PBS watching tends to be limited now that I no longer frequent Sesame Street and Thomas the Tank Engine, I'd missed the opening episodes and didn't want to jump into the middle. A day or two at home with a virus-riddled attention span and Netflix was the perfect time to catch up on last season, and for the three days I've lived and mouth-breathed Downton Abbey.

Oh. My. Heavens.

That estate. Those dresses. The ironing of the newspaper to dry the ink and protect his lordship's fingers from stain. The romance, the plotting, the WAR.

I tried to describe it to Husband, who isn't a big fan of movies that don't feature either Jimmy Stewart or John Wayne.

"It's this family, see?, and they live in a castle in England and have all these servants, but they only have DAUGHTERS and Mary's fiance was on the Titanic so now who knows who's going to inherit  Downton? and oh, Anna and Mr. Bates and his horrible wife--"

At this point Husband interrupted me.

"They live in a castle?"

"Well, no, not a castle exactly because there isn't a king there, but it's like this really enormous--place?"

And I trailed off because if I couldn't get past the second line of my description there was no way of explaining the absolute crisis that comes from not having a footman serving the gravy because the footman is off helping the heir to the estate STRAIGHTEN HIS TIE before they go into battle against the Germans.

Then I watched last night's episode and went to bed. This morning I woke up sneezing and headachey (again). Husband took one look at my chapped nose and said, "Hey, don't worry about supper tonight. I can find something for myself."

I must have still been under Downton's spell because my vowels were round and plummy as I replied. "Oh, do you mind? It would be most awfully kind of you."

At least I didn't make him iron the newspaper.