I’m getting married this year, and last week I met two of my future in-laws, Great Aunt and Uncle Atwell. I was told that the Atwells are “true readers,” and, in a whisper as we walked to their front door, “wait until you see the house.” It took me some time to piece together the relationship between these two pieces of intelligence.
Once inside, it was the abundance of doilies and tablecloths that first leapt out. No surface escaped the crusade of cloth involving at least one, but more often two, lengths of fabric strategically draped to avoid showing even a hint of leg. These tables echoed Aunt Atwell herself, modest enough to wear a slip under the thick skirt that already reached mid-calf.