By Rana Ballout
Killer Lady
I have always wanted to be a southern belle, my hair decoratively falling in loose curls or teasingly gathered up and crowned with girlish bows. In my daydreams, I would descend a horse-drawn carriage, lift my ballooned ball gown and smile coyly at my beau. Admittedly, I also have had the odd My Fair Lady fantasy where my state of modern rebelliousness was tamed by a wise if fastidious old man with obvious misogynistic leanings. Who cared as long as I made it to the ball, wore an époque dress and diamond tiara, danced with a dashing crown prince (William or Hamza would do just fine) and had the title of princess bestowed upon me.
Well, it’s not as simple as it sounds. I never graduated in home economics or floral decoration from Institut Villa Pierrefeu in Switzerland, one of the country’s most illustrious finishing school for girls – albeit the aristocratic kind. Princess Diana gained her stately stripes from the now-defunct Institut Alpin Vidematte and even Camilla Parker Bowles Windsor ‘partly attended’ Mont Fertile. Finishing schools prepare girls aged 14 and up for moneyed marriage and, failing that, charity work.
As a female of more moderate but modern means, I had recourse to help me learn the etiquette of old: cyberspace. Page upon page of information, rules and regulations pointed in one direction: a lady must be seen and not heard. If you are a real lady, you’re not allowed to giggle in public or speak loudly in the likely event you’ll be deemed as vulgar. If you happen to cross a handsome man strolling down the avenue, bow by inclining your head gracefully. Perish the thought you should bump into people you despise, but if you do make sure you turn your face. Do not, under any circumstances, stare them down rudely even if they happen to have spread meaningless gossip about you, your mother and your whole village.
Dealing with the opposite sex is just as complicated. You must never allow a man to talk to you in a casual manner. So words like hayati and babe as flattering as they may be should be taken as an insult. He is also not allowed to touch you on the shoulder let alone anywhere else on your body and it is out of the question he call you by your first name in public. If such travesties do occur make sure you smile pleasantly and turn your head before walking off. As indicated above, do not stare him down rudely. The only real contact you can have with a man within closed space is if he is a confirmed invalid – make sure you ask for a doctor’s note before visiting his quarters.
There are, of course, some less demeaning Victorian etiquette rules to engage in. Among the most pressing are 1) to be on time, 2) never laugh at your own wit but allow others to do it, 3) never cut anyone in public or subjugate them to humiliation. Or my favourite: at a wedding it is impolite to congratulate the bride since the bridegroom is the one that is fortunate. Now that sounds more like it.
