Today my Grammy would've been 100 years old. And she truly made me the Domme that I am.
Margaret was born August 8th 1913 in Worcestor Mass. Only when she introduced herself, it was "Mahh-gret".
With that marvelous Bostonian Kennedy-esque accent; I was Miss Jennifah and my sister was Amander.
You didn't sit on the couch, you sat on the divan. You didn't drink soda or a milkshake, you drank tonic or a frappe.
With some words, she omitted the middle; like "company" was cump'ny and "kettle" was keh-ul.
But strangely, she never used the stereotypical New Englander 'wicked' to describe or emphasize anything.
I'm honored see a great deal of parallels between she and I. She was a businesswoman who married late in life and became a military wife. She also never wore slacks nor jeans and she loved purple.
She ran her household with an iron skillet and was very strict but motherly. She was extremely stylish, loved gaudy jewelry, a good, stiff Manhattan with hors d'oeuvres and to go shopping, be waited upon and to tip generously.
She drove a Cadillac, was an etiquette and grammar Nazi, loved to entertain at home and attend smart cocktail parties. She believed in dressing for dinner, addressing all adults with a Mr., Mrs. and Miss and never leaving the house without a girdle and stockings on.
She wasn't 'into getting weaves at salons', she enjoyed getting shampoo and roller sets at the beauty parlor.
She had high standards, was opinionated, organized, domineering, kind, warm, a crack-up, the best story-teller and maintained the perfect balance of being refined yet cozy and embraceable.
From her I learned how to set the table, speak intelligently and with grace and to use proper table manners.
I learned how to shop, how to tip, how to dress, the glove, purse and handkerchief etiquette and how set my hair in pin-curls (I still do most every night!) and apply lipstick and perfume. And yes, there is a way to do it.
This is what set the foundation for not just my cosmetological skills, but Grammy created aesthetic and headspace crystalizations of my own style - in BDSM and otherwise.
And those of you who know me can see how I reflect the 1940s-1950s matron - with a little of my own Gothabilly/kitschy-taphophilic sensibilities thrown in for good measure.
I've never been one of those vinyl & leather Dommes. When fledgling clients ask me if I dress like Catwoman for sessions, I reply "No, try Lucille Ball."
I've said it before: me in a rubber catsuit with my 4'11" height and my shape? I'd look like a goddamned tire.
Polka dots and pearls are MJ's best friend.
Grammy was the epitome of a Lady, and manners were crucial. She truly shaped me as a Mistress; as I personally place a higher emphasis on etiquette, literacy and presentation than I do upon the superficial. And this spans into all areas of my being; whether you are taking my order at a restaurant or supplicating to be my submissive or slave.
In the vanilla world, things like text-speak when writing and a waiter addressing a table of ladies with "How are you guys doing today?" makes the left side of my face tic and my pussy pucker.
Grammy would've had an aneurysm.
Grammy cemented in me an appreciation for good manners. And this colloquialism-gone-wild era has me positively cherishing rare displays of genteelness.
I place higher value on proper table manners in a considered submissive/slave over how heavy of a bottom he is.
Knowing how to properly hold ones' knife, fork and wineglass, napkin placement and how to politely chew takes ever so much precedent over the size of one's cock.
And dressing well (not exorbitantly), holding doors, pulling chairs, putting on/taking off our coats, lighting others' cigarettes (male and female), doffing hats and having the politeness and sense to rise from ones' seat when someone (male or female again) approaches or departs the table are long-lost arts that used to be customary.
Yet if one displays such 'archaic' sensibilities in my presence, that makes one not just a stellar sub, but a well-brought up all-around gentleman with whom I would far prefer to keep company.
That puts one miles above the cretins who seek to impress Us with ham-handed (and oft single-handed) accounts of non-consensual fantasies or purported amounts of seminal output.
Grammy no doubt played a monumental part in the vintage Mistress and Dommy Mother-Hen I am today. I have her look (and green eyes) and style fused with fillips of my own.
I strive to abide by her standards, her decor, the atmosphere and energy that she created...
... and how to keep house in a non-subserviant, Dommy way.
I run the ship and keep it clean, organized, pleasantly decorated and inviting. I designate subbie-do chores.
When I cook, I don't serve, I dote.
I, like Grammy; enjoy nourishing hard-working, hungry men with ample home-cooked meals that they relish with manly gusto.
And I'm proud to be the matriarchal Kitchen-Witch who has a cure for freaking everything.
I believe that I also got a great deal of humor and warmth from Grammy. While you respected her and certainly didn't want to fuck with her, she was funny and accessible.
She laughed at her own foibles, like self-depreciation is often part of my shtick; like the tire joke or that me in a trench coat would make me look like Hamburglar.
And while many Dommes in their pictures scowl into the camera while holding a clenched fist, I prefer to smile. Doing angry duckface just seems pretentious and so utterly not me.
I'm also not one of those "you've been a bad boy!" Mistresses.
I believe that roasting is the finest art of verbal humiliation one can possibly master.
When I do part Mrs. Wolowitz-scold and part Gunnery Sgt Hartman while doing a killer imitation of Grammy in all her Woos-tah accented glory: that makes for a helluva scene and some serious Dommedy.
I would kill to take her out on a Ladies' Day today!
I'd love to find an old fashioned beauty parlor where we could get our hair set and dish.
Then I'd find some places to shop that aren't laden with bro-and-bimbo togs. We'd shop for shoes, pocketbooks, slips, Clinique and amethyst jewelry til we could carry no more.
And then we'd reminisce over some high-end dining and I'd tell her of all the classes I've been teaching, my writing, clients and travels.
She would no doubt approve of my fiance -and the MANY uncanny similarities between him and Grandpa. And Grammy and Grandpa (or Gr & Grr) were married over 50 years, so I'll take that as a good omen that Grammy had such a happy marriage with a man with whom Will shares so many amazing qualities.
She also held out long and hard for the right guy. 32 was positively ancient to be getting wed in 1945. But she like me, would rather be a spinster than married to an unsuitable fellow. But I have her beat by waiting til 40. <chuckles>
Now while I don't think that Grammy would be able to wrap her bouffant around BDSM, D/s and some of the Lifestyle aspects of my being, I'm sure that she would appreciate my adventures. Yet many of my gigs I would write off to her as Burlesque performances and appearances -not things I've been doing in dungeons. Or maybe I would after the second round of Manhattans.
I'd find a handsome waiter to bring us a small chocolate mousse pie with a candle in it for her. "Just a sliv-ah!" she'd always say...
Oh my! Just as I was writing this, "It's been a long, long time" by Ray Anthony just came on my Pandora station- she sang this song ALL the time.
Maybe Grammy read this and joined the party...
Happy Birthday, Babe.
*reposted with permission by MissJenny from https://fetlife.com/groups/13634/group_posts/4242846