Look on ye great unwashed and
tremble with unrequited notice as
these refined, unapproachable women
of distinction pose and purr in their
self-appointed roles of liberated
progressives, privately venal and
self-adoring. Portraying themselves
as champions of the unadorned every
woman wedded to her societal role
too engaged in the pedestrian existence
that life has assigned, not the elite
privileged of the celebrity class. There
they are gloating and flaunting their
unique status in the pretense of briefly
abandoning child and chore to the shared
pleasures of tippling and recreational
chats in a shared congratulatory escape
from the burdens of supervising the hired
help around their opulent homes; viewers
of their recorded pantomime transfixed in
adoration in the belief that these tigers
represent their own future of lighthearted
camaraderie, no worldly cares, a time and
place that will elude them, a mere mirage.
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