No hate here--I definitely will always love Eloise. But you know what they say--you snark the ones you love! So with that in mind, snark on, MacDuff!
I am Eloise. I am six.
I am a privileged semi orphan. I live at the Plaza.
Every day I make several calls on the House Phone. Then I have to stop by the Mail Desk to see if there are any other places in the Plaza that need to be superfluously capitalized.
Sometimes I scrape two sticks down the sides of the hallway. It makes a terrific racket.
My mother spends every second Tuesday of the month from 4:30 to 5:00 in the Plaza Hotel Owner's private office.
Nanny is my keeper. She is my constant companion.
I have a dog called Weenie and a turtle called Skipperdee.
The Plaza is the only hotel that will let you keep a feral six year old.
First thing I have to when I wake up is braid Skipperdee's ears. Otherwise no one will recognize my quirkiness.
I have my own room.
It has a coat rack as large as I am because my mother bans the use of wire hangers.
My father is conspicuously absent from my life.
I have two dolls. Their names are Sabine and Saylor.
Sabine is a chew toy that came from the store for over indulged poodles one Christmas Eve when Nanny realized she'd forgotten to do my Christmas shopping. Saylor is a large baby doll with no arms. Saylor comes from FAO Schwartz's Lindbergh baby line. Sabine and Saylor have to have a teaspoon of water every hour and a suppository every half hour so you see they are a lot of work.
Sometimes I wear my arm in a sling. Sometimes I put a rubber band on the end of my nose. Sometimes I decide to save my eccentricities for later on in life, when I'm senile.
But not very often.
Toe shoes make very good attention getting devices. Sometimes I wear them on birthdays where my mother has forgotten to send me a misshapen baby doll.
I refuse to go to school so my tutor is Philip. He goes to Andover. He says, "Good morning, Eloise," and I say, "Good morning, Eloise."
Then he says, "Take out your report on What We Can Learn from The Ransom of Red Chief," and I say, "Take out your report on What We Can Learn from The Ransom of Red Chief" and he screams, "NANNY!" and I scream, "NANNY!" and Nanny calls room service and orders three of everything. Ooooooooooo I love aggravating pseudo intellects I do.
Here's what I can do.
Chew gum. Write.
Contort myself without ruining my skirt pleats.
Manage to become a beloved character among self professed third wave feminists despite gratuitously showing off my frilly panties.
Sometimes I get terribly sick and have to be waited on. Sometimes my head becomes loose and wobbles. Sometimes pandering to my precociousness becomes too much of a chore and Nanny has to call my mother long distance to discuss her monthly stipend.
Ooooooooooo I just love stream of consciousness narrative I absolutely do.
There's so much to do. Tomorrow I think I'll pour some of Nanny's bathtub gin down the mail chute.
I am Eloise. I am six.
I am a privileged semi orphan. I live at the Plaza.
Every day I make several calls on the House Phone. Then I have to stop by the Mail Desk to see if there are any other places in the Plaza that need to be superfluously capitalized.
Sometimes I scrape two sticks down the sides of the hallway. It makes a terrific racket.
My mother spends every second Tuesday of the month from 4:30 to 5:00 in the Plaza Hotel Owner's private office.
Nanny is my keeper. She is my constant companion.
I have a dog called Weenie and a turtle called Skipperdee.
The Plaza is the only hotel that will let you keep a feral six year old.
First thing I have to when I wake up is braid Skipperdee's ears. Otherwise no one will recognize my quirkiness.
I have my own room.
It has a coat rack as large as I am because my mother bans the use of wire hangers.
My father is conspicuously absent from my life.
I have two dolls. Their names are Sabine and Saylor.
Sabine is a chew toy that came from the store for over indulged poodles one Christmas Eve when Nanny realized she'd forgotten to do my Christmas shopping. Saylor is a large baby doll with no arms. Saylor comes from FAO Schwartz's Lindbergh baby line. Sabine and Saylor have to have a teaspoon of water every hour and a suppository every half hour so you see they are a lot of work.
Sometimes I wear my arm in a sling. Sometimes I put a rubber band on the end of my nose. Sometimes I decide to save my eccentricities for later on in life, when I'm senile.
But not very often.
Toe shoes make very good attention getting devices. Sometimes I wear them on birthdays where my mother has forgotten to send me a misshapen baby doll.
I refuse to go to school so my tutor is Philip. He goes to Andover. He says, "Good morning, Eloise," and I say, "Good morning, Eloise."
Then he says, "Take out your report on What We Can Learn from The Ransom of Red Chief," and I say, "Take out your report on What We Can Learn from The Ransom of Red Chief" and he screams, "NANNY!" and I scream, "NANNY!" and Nanny calls room service and orders three of everything. Ooooooooooo I love aggravating pseudo intellects I do.
Here's what I can do.
Chew gum. Write.
Contort myself without ruining my skirt pleats.
Manage to become a beloved character among self professed third wave feminists despite gratuitously showing off my frilly panties.
Sometimes I get terribly sick and have to be waited on. Sometimes my head becomes loose and wobbles. Sometimes pandering to my precociousness becomes too much of a chore and Nanny has to call my mother long distance to discuss her monthly stipend.
Ooooooooooo I just love stream of consciousness narrative I absolutely do.
There's so much to do. Tomorrow I think I'll pour some of Nanny's bathtub gin down the mail chute.