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*Disclaimer: The following is a true story [though highly exaggerated], and as such the names have been changed for humorous effect, and to obscure the identity of the people mentioned.

Today I had lunch with the King of Terre D’Ange and a Peach. We sat in the King’s dining room in the Ivory Tower, watching the other nobles buzz-on over their own meals. As a commoner I must admit that I wasn’t at all sure what to expect at being admitted to such hallowed halls. Surely the tables would be swathed in pristine white linen, and set with the finest silver and crystal, and of course the meals would be presented in silver service too.

Imagine my surprise when in fact the tables were bare of anything resembling linen, silver and crystal. The meals were self service at the buffet, or salads and sandwiches at the counter. All of my preconceptions were undeniably wrong; the nobility aren’t better than us commoners, the Ivory Tower is a place in which they can relax far from the madding crowd.

In truth, today was not my first visit to the dining hall of the Ivory Tower, and the King of Terre D’Ange is really a rather wonderful friend, as is the Peach.

I learned something about myself today; although I am intelligent, loquacious, and eloquent, I am not the master of the intellectual conversation. I can well understand every word, until you pull out the jargon of a field I am unfamiliar with. The reason is twofold: I am easily bored, and I’m anecdotal. I live in the anecdote, to learn something new I relate it to something I have learned, read, or experienced before in some way or degree; and I often relate myself and what I have to say via some anecdote. Amongst the peasantry around the Ivory Tower this has stood me in good stead, but today I realized that amongst nobility I am very much out of my league.

And words are my “thing”.

In a world which inundates us with images from every angle, the ability to string a sentence together, and have it be coherent, is a dying art. Within this art I am a Princess, though I aspire to be Queen someday. By acknowledging this, I acknowledge my right to dine in the Ivory Tower. with the King of Terre D’Ange and the Peach. I reclaim my mastery over the words, that for some weeks now have failed me. Don’t cry for me Argentina, one cannot be a master of everything, and intelligent conversation is still firmly in my grasp.

Although my friends the King and the Peach are not reading this, I know that they are supportive of my attempt to reclaim my art. I may even send them the link.

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