Over the weekend, I stumbled upon this image on The London Lounge boards, and found it both utterly charming and completely hilarious. The chap on the left, dressed in what we would consider extremely formal evening wear, is roguishly picking his gloves off his fingers while the rather priggish young man to the right looks on in disdain.
Just as I began to think that a breeze and some sunshine were becoming the order of the day, typical St. Louis weather kicked in and yesterday was a not-so-wonderful 45 degrees and pouring rain all day. Wednesday afternoon was spent playing croquet on the campus lawn, and Thursday was spent shivering and wringing the water out of my mackintosh’s pocket linings.
I must admit, I don’t get the chance to hand-write many things. It’s not that I have wonderful penmanship either, average at best, but there is something much more pleasurable and thoughtful about writing something by hand than typing it. Once written, you can’t take something back, and every stroke must be deliberate and premeditated.