Dearest Diary,
While I have no complaints about a day such as this one, I will say I was a trifle amused when near its end I was approached by a gentleman removing the refuse from the bins when I stopped to water the horses. It isn't that I'm unimpressed by such an occupation, but I was not in the very least interested in a chat as I was in quite the hurry. He proceeded to make conversation about the wastefulness of a fully discarded sack of potatoes and how he could not approve of my millinery piece. It seemed to project an allegiance I did not necessarily hold to. After affirming that I am impartial to that which he seemed to hold with great importance, he was unfortunately even more at ease with our exchange. I quickly bade him farewell and was on my way.
The humour in such an anecdote is that such things inevitably take place when I am at my least attractive state. When my face gives way to the drowsiness I feel. When dinner has made my dress just the slightest bit uncomfortable. That is when gentleman become garrulous. Not, as it turns out, after spending hours fashioning every curl and every eyelash.
Is this a strategy I should condone on the morrow?...
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