Downton Abbey Addiction

(spoilers)

My tardiness to the Downton Abbey phenomena hasn’t lessened my enjoyment in the least. Spoilers, shmoilers, I’m watching it for more superficial reasons than plotline, namely, to fuel my fantasy life at an English country estate where I don satin ball gowns and beaded flapper dresses, sit down to afternoon tea served in delicate china every day(!), and have perfect finger wave hair.

But these wanton ploys aside, I do find myself just as riveted as I was watching Walter’s kitchen tricks for the perfect batch of blue meth or Rick cracking skulls of the walking dead. Downton Abbey’s premise should bore me in comparison, but it delivers the most satisfying drama, heightened by the post-Edwardian parameters and darn good acting. After seeing the season premiere my vision shrank to a tightened tunnel and the only thing visible was the next episode. Finishing the series means my life can resume. I can’t remember the last time I furiously devoured a television show. It’s usually books or buttery food.

 

I’m nearly finished with the third season. When Lady Sybil died I howled feeling personally robbed since she was the sister I felt most akin to, the bohemian revolutionary. And yes, I know what happens to Matthew. I’ve been hydrating myself for the past few days in anticipation of the waterworks.  After my blubbering dies down I plan to confront my feelings of abandonment. How dare these actors move on with their careers when I’m enjoying them so? How can they possibly think there will be a better place for them than Downton?! (in Carson’s voice)

The other more crucial question that’s been plaguing me: Why doesn’t America adopt the tea tradition? Every episode of Downton Abbey leaves me with a burning desire to make tea (and use a British accent. Don’t pretend like you don’t.). My life would be complete if I knew tea and treats happened every afternoon. Of course, America is too busy being productive; shoving processed diet shakes or on-the-go bars into our mouths between meetings to even consider such a pleasant idea. It’s tragic! There are a few hotels and cafes in Los Angeles that serve a traditional afternoon tea, but it’s pricey and occasional which means I leave broke and poofed full of scones.

Announcement! I’m going to instate an afternoon tea routine for myself. Who’s with me? All I need is one pretty cup and something sweet or savory. It will likely be healthier since the alternative is grabbing whatever’s accessible for snacking, and for me, it’s often a handful of strawberry licorice or cereal. Besides, I have a feeling tea in a porcelain cup and saucer instead of my usual old coffee mug will taste infinitely better. Or, lovelier rather.

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