I'm becoming an aristocratic country bumpkin paradox

. 1 min read

As per the new me (yes I'm bringing this up again), my identity is changing quite rapidly these days.

First of all, I say weird things. Weirder than before at least. Whimppary. Gollencial. Unimalous.

Second of all, I keep declaring that I'm becoming a country bumpkin who makes rustic hot pots in the oven and cooks every Christmas dish from scratch.

But since the term has some less-than-ideal connotations that don't fit at all with my otherwise sophisticated and refined personality, I must also declare that if I indeed am becoming a country bumpkin, I'll be the Queen Elizabeth II type that lives in a mansion in the middle of Scottish countryside with seventeen corgis.

This is a better analogy since no one would ever call Queen Elizabeth a country bumpkin in the negative way.

And while I'm definitely not Queen Elizabeth, she definitely had the kind of grace and serenity that I talked about the other day.

Emulating her seems like a winning strategy to me, even if I did make my own hot pots and Christmas casseroles.