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Polly MacIntyre's Autobiography (submitted 5/15/06)

As a confirmed Anglophile, I always adored going out to a fancy hotel for afternoon tea, and even got my husband Kevin interested in such a refined repast. He enjoyed the elegance of the room, be it the Four Seasons, The Bellevue, or The Ritz Carlton, and did not mind the many occasions when he was the only man in the room. Invariably, though there was plenty of food, and I would leave feeling as if I couldn't possibly eat another bite, he would claim to be in need of a hamburger as we walked home. When we became parents, and our daughter, Maggie, was almost a year old, we took her to tea with us for the first time. It was Christmas time, the room was beautifully decorated, and all the guests were dressed in their holiday best. Our baby was equally festive, in a red velvet onesie in her carrier on our table. As we looked around the room, we noticed several little girls between the ages of five and ten. They had lovely velvet dresses on, and very nice manners. We spoke about how proud we would be when our daughter would carry herself with such finesse--just at the moment she had managed to get a sock off her foot and into her mouth! Though we found her quite charming, we had to admit that the day Maggie would be a well-mannered young lady was still a few years off.

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