Despite the fact that I had the day off, Sunday was balmy and generally gave one a full sense of joie de vivre. To celebrate, I donned terribly exciting stockings and my second favorite hat before trotting on over to the Vinoy
for brunch with the girls: Debbie, Bill, and Carlos The Puerto Rican With A Twist.
Brunch was lovely, despite the fact that I may physically be unable to ever eat anything again; I am quite sure that we consumed at least thirty five pounds of fresh crab, ostrich, cheese, berries, fresh cream, pate de foie gras, Eggs Benedict, berries, teensy tiny little mushrooms, mimosas, berries, oysters, mangos, and yummy little fruit tarts that were covered in berries. Not only was the food wonderfully delicious and full of yummy berry-ish goodness, but we also had a wonderful time being horribly catty and princess-y. We debated the merits of Mr. Right vs. Mr. Right Now vs. Mr. No Way In Hell, gossiped about people we didn't know and traded various sordid and naughty innuendoes in a terribly sophisticated manner.
After brunch, we waddled on over to the the Florida International Museum
, where Carlos and I ogled obnoxiously opulent jewelry
while discussing the benefits of owning our very own personal tiaras. While I firmly believe that one tiara is really all that one needs, Carlos felt that a larger number might be more appropriate. The friendly salesclerk at the giftshop assured us that multiple tiaras are quite the thing, as she owns 78 pairs herself.
After the jewelry, we tottered over to the Princess Diana exhibit
, because we just haven't seen enough overhyped media tributes to Royalty living in such incredible opulence. I looked at her moldy old tap shoes, her suitcases, her grammar books, her ceramic animals, her photos, and the endlessly looping film of her fantastically expensive funeral procession -- next to which the staff had thoughtfully placed a rather large box of kleenex for those who were feeling very emotional about the whole thing.
They also had The Wedding Dress, which took up an entire room with the grandiosity of its billowy poofy puffiness; we could barely squeeze in against a wall to peer at its heaving swells of frothy lace, poofy silk, poofy crinoline and overwhelmingly huge fluffy puffiness. It constantly rippled and heaved in an alarming manner, covering wheelchairs, suffocating tourists, and blocking the exits; we barely emerged alive.
Of course, the immensely glorious and meringue-like puffiness of The Dress reminded me, as it does almost everyone else, of Plato and his Allegory Of The Cave from the seventh book of the Republic.
As everyone knows, Plato used this allegory to depict the multitude of mankind as sitting around in a cave with nothing to do and no television to watch. They sit facing away from the entrance, but towards the shadows thrown by a fire onto a wall; these shadows are cast by artificial objects being passed back and forth, their images greatly distorted by the flickering flames. The majority of mankind gazes at only these shadows all their lives, but a few enlightened ones switch their gazes from the shadows to the painful light emanating from the cave's entrance. Dazzled and blinking, they emerge into the world of nature, where they learn to ignore the shadow images and only see the real objects that transcend the shadows. Absolute ideals of Truth and Beauty are then revealed.
The Princess Diana wedding dress represents the Absolute Ideal of poofy fluffy puffiness, transcending all other billowing fluffy things, which are as mere shadows cast onto the wall of the allegorical cave. Nothing can even begin to compare to the swelling immensity of its Royal frothiness, which eclipses all else. It truly stands alone: ideal, perfect, complete -- the epitome to which everything else must strive.
I am truly humbled.