The English Godfather

Man About Mayfair
Sir Basil Seal

I have a Goddaughter. Yes, I do, and before any of you bemoan this child's fate, or berate her parents apparent lack of judgment, please remember that The Countess is her Godmother and my superior officer and keeper. So, the choice may not be quite as rash as it seems at first blush. But back to my Goddaughter...I have watched her grow from a rather beastly mewling baby into a beautiful and accomplished young women. She has become a very fine young lady and to our joy, if not all together hers, she has recently moved to St. Louis to begin a new job.

We are delighted to have her near once again. It was due to this recent move that I had the pleasure of dining with said Goddaughter at a dining establishment last week. It was after this most enjoyable meal, as we sat over our port and coffee, that I realized my Goddaughter was indeed a very beautiful woman. I beamed benevolently upon her as I thought of her fresh beauty, warm and humorous personality and her six figure income, which she has earned by her own smarts and hard work. Of course, at that moment my smile became a frown as a young man approached our table to share some inane comments with the Goddaughter. It was actually the same young man with the ridiculous haircut and oily smile who had slimed by our table on four previous occasions to share inane comments. I began to have suspicions about this cretin's motives for annoying me with his continued visits. He couldn't possibly be yearning for my conversation. What did this hooligan want? Ahhhhh......I glanced across the table at my beautiful Goddaughter, and it was but the work of an instant and I saw the light. Gold digger, huh? Sniffing about above your station, what? Well, old Uncle Basil has seen right through your scheme my good man. I was young once too, and wrote your play book as well, you whippersnapper....

Of course, I went to work immediately. I played along with this scenario, inciting the young thug to join us. Pulling up a chair and inquiring if he would like a glass of port or maybe some very light beer. Lemonade? His evil intentions were plain to see, written as they were across his forehead just below the horns. I had the young cad marked immediately. I had to bide my time and suffer though his bumbling attempts to ingratiate himself with the Goddaughter. He was barking up the wrong tree there, but I still had to make sure, since you never know what a women will do out of spite. He was a salesman of some sort, of course and probably used facial creme. He looked the type.

When the Goddaughter excused herself for a moment, I pounced. Yes, (I said) to this wolf in off-the-peg clothing, we are always so thankful when our young lady can have a few happy moments, in her otherwise tortured existence. Well, what I mean to say is, that normally due to her schizophrenia and multiple personality disorders, she spends much of her time under sedation. Occasionally, when the meds go really bad and the axe murderer personality comes to the fore, as it did with that last unfortunate boyfriend, the doctor, by the way, said that even without the actual member, he might live a full life at some point in time, well...The jury decided that it really wasn't her fault, you know, being ill, and not herself, as it were. Yes, it is always a blessing, these rare moments of peace and happiness...Yes, and such a pretty girl too...What a shame.

When the Goddaughter reappeared, I explained that the young gentlemen in question had said something about an early start in divorce court the next morning and had rushed off. Left his compliments, of course. No, no number was left, I'm sure he will get in touch with you one way or another. Would you like a little more coffee, my dear? How about some nice strawberry cheesecake? Just the thing, what? We are so glad you're back home safe and sound...

Comments

[Mr. Peperium]

See? What I say is true. If we would all just model our conduct after characters in P. G. Wodehouse, life would be so much simpler.

Without the model of Psmith's lofty amusement constantly before me, I doubt if I could get through a single day.

And without the sterling example of Uncle Fred's resource and unblushing, stop-at-nothing spirit of invention constantly before you, your dear goddaughter would be dating a perishing outsider who, for all we know, bases his CD collection on the reviews in Maxim.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Hells bells, I once dated a guy who wore Greek fisherman sandals, Yasser Arafat scarf, and a pin on his lapel that said "I read banned books".

[Robbo the Llama Butcher]

Good Heavens, I've got three daughters and two Goddaughters, all of whom are going to blossom into extremely beautiful and accomplished young women before you can say, "What, ho!"

With the legions of worthless young cads that I'm sure will be hovering about them, I've an idea that I'm going to wind up most resembling old Tom Travers after eating lobster!

[Robbo the Llama Butcher]

I strongly suspect that with respect to the shoals of worthless young cads that inevitably will hang about my three daughters and two Goddaughters, all of whom are going to turn into beautiful and accomplished young women before you can say, "What, ho!" the Wodehouse character that I'm going to most resemble is old Tom Travers after he ate lobster.

[Old Dominion Tory]

A nicely turned play, Basil.
However, I cannot understand why today's young cads advertise their caddishness with their ridiculous haircuts. Their dubious tonsorial choices immediately and obviously telegraph their unworthiness, undercutting their chance to make it past parents, godparents, and other guardians who have less finely tuned senses as our dear Sir Basil.

[Christine]

I personally think the mullet is where it's at...

http://www.csdl.tamu.edu/~marshall/reference-mullet.jpg

[Mrs. Peperium]

You guys are terrible. Just terrible. Men are more than their clothes otheriwise I should never have married the guy in the Greek fishermen sandals, Yasser Arafat scarf sporting the "I read banned books" lapel pin. Also, you have to be careful as to what Basil judges as a "ridiculous haircut". It may just mean a guy with hair.

And young guys don't need facial creme...they still have their all their natural oils intact...

[Basil Seal]

Not at all Mrs. P...Remember, I had it when I needed it...

[Mrs. Peperium]

You keep reminding me of this Basil. But it is wearing a tad thin, don't you think?

[Old Dominion Tory]

Mrs. Peperium:
I trust Mr. Peperium was not trying to be a cad in his greener days. He was just trying to maintain his status as a fully paid-up member of the Bolshie boho crowd. Hence, his . . . ah . . . interesting attire.
The squirt who Sir Basil saw through instantly and sent off without breaking a sweat is a pseudo-cad, an oxygen-stealing example of how today's young aspiring cads are pale imitations of the cads of yesterday. Truly, I cannot see many women being bamboozled by any of the poorly dressed and poorly barbered young men who think themselves cads. Moreover, I cannot conceive of them developing into the likes of Terry Thomas.

[Mrs. Peperium]

You mean the Terry Thomas who bears an uncanny likeness to Basil, don't you?

http://imagecache2.allposters.com/images/pic/MMPH-E/171946~Terry-Thomas-Posters.jpg

While it was all good, nice and somewhat honorable for what Basil did for his goddaughter. But when you think about it, he told the young cad his goddaugther was mentally ill. For pete's sake, cads do talk you know. You know cads talk a lot. Basil might have harmed his goddaughter's chances at a good man. I think he owes her big. Uncle Fred would come up with a nice guy right about now. I think Basil has to cough one up. Besides doesn't he think she's capabable of knowing a goon when she sees one? Gosh. I mean really.

[Old Dominion Tory]

Precisely the Terry Thomas I meant, Mrs. Peperium.

[Mr. Peperium]

I'm with Mrs. P...and not just because I have to be.

I agree that, having muddied the marital pool for his Goddaughter, at a moment when she has just moved to town barely got her feet wet, so to speak, puts him in a position where noblesse pretty much has to oblige.

If Basil is so hot at sniffing out the ersatz, he should be equally gifted at flagging the genuine article.

[Old Dominion Tory]

Indeed, Sir Basil does seem to have taken on a weighty obligation insofar as his goddaughter's future happiness is concerned.
He should consider this mission properly--at his club and over a snifter and a long lunch. Perhaps, some older members might be able to help him with sagacious advice.