Dear Bitsy,

Your behavior last night was abhorrent. You hit a few too many Cosmopolitans there eh girl? How many times have I told you you can’t hold your liquor like you used to? Those days are gone Bitsy. Your rambling diatribes about the “state of things” nowadays were not only misinformed and naïve, but a bunch of gobblygook. You embarrassed yourself completely.

Don’t you think?

When Henry got back from playing his rounds of golf with the boys, you certainly were in a lather. Mrs. Baxter was simply asking how you were Bitsy, it wasn’t a loaded question! And why did you have to yell your pissy answer for the whole patio of lunchers to hear?

She didn’t mean any harm.

And the patio boy, what was that about? He’s working for peanuts here Bitsy, true, but you can’t buy him you know. He’s just an honest young man doing an honest day’s work. Your flashing of hundreds and cat calling wasn’t well-received at all by the stuffy blue bloods.  I mean Bitsy- trying to stuff bills in his back pocket? Oh my. Didn’t you see the lunchers sitting back sipping their gin and tonics and smirking with satisfaction bearing witness to your sideshow? You really know how to make the scene a brouhaha.

And what was the ruckus with the waiter? He didn’t cook the Faux Filet au Poivre himself you know. And what makes you think that Faux means the steer was an inbred? Well “lacking pedigree” is how you put it. Yelling at him about it was WAY over the line Bitsy. What do you know of au Poivre? You practically drove him to tears.

Oh Bitsy.

I’m writing to you now from the club car of the train. It’ll be good to get back to Boston. I would’ve discussed this with you in person, but your were too busy sleeping it off in the back of the pool house. I’ll see you this summer, June 23-ish. In the meantime please be nice to Daddy and give him a rest already, would you? Send my regards to dear brother Chaucer. Tell him I’ll see him at the beach house in Nantucket.

Stay out of trouble Bitsy.

Your loving daughter,



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