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August 2, 2009
I compliment my hostess on the lavish guest bedroom at the top of the stairs. I don't really mean it, but it's what you do when you go to someone's house, right? Right. You don't say, "Hey, this place is an ostentatious diorama brimming with nouveau riche poppycock!" do you? No. You don't.

She at least has the good graces to confide that she had nothing to do with its decoration. "That bedroom is exactly the same as the display in Bloomingdale's. I have absolutely no taste of my own."

I compliment her honesty. And this time I mean it.