You Don't Have to Curtsy

It started with a castle.

Nestled in a Romanian forest it was a fairy tale money pit. The listing didn't try to hide the damage hundreds of years had wrought on the building. It was out of my price range, completely, but not so far as to be in the realm of unrealistic if I won the lottery.

So I dreamed.

Of living in a castle, of riding across the open glades, of swimming in the lake, of wandering through the gardens, of dancing in the ballroom, of being a Baroness.

Because it came with the title.

Baroness Mandy.

It doesn't really have a ring to it. Mandy calls to mind a wholesome milkmaid rather than aristocratic hauteur. And even I knew the styling would likely be more along the lines of Mandy, Baroness Cool Romanian Castle which was barely better.

Still...I let my imagination fly in the way of children, ignoring the fact that I was a newly separated mother of two and I'd be better served by an imagination that procured images of a stable income.

Time passed. The castle sold. I buried my jealousy of the unnamed owners under new daydreams of Earl Grey who would, I assume, keep me in tea for the rest of my days. Or his. (He's actually quite old.)

Life goes on, as it always does, and my dear friends and writing partners kept the running joke with me. Baroness Mandy. The idea lovely irony since I'm the furthest from a Baroness one could get.

But I'm a proactive sort who excels at procrastination under the guise of "creative block". As I stared off into space, trying to sort out a plot hole, I wondered...how does one become a Baroness?

Option 1: Inherit the title. While there are all sorts of examples of Americans finding themselves suddenly in possession of a title, my genealogy is of decidedly peasant origin. I might find a knight or two nestled in the branches of my family tree, but a Baron was unlikely.

Option 2: Marry a title. On the surface, this seemed like a more workable idea, but there are times one must face facts and realize that while the ability to can and raise chickens can hold an attraction, the aristocracy typically weds commoners of less common talents and uncommon attractiveness.

Option 3: Purchase a title. This was really the most American of choices with a tradition dating back to the Industrial Revolution when, wanting to get a gloss of prestige, Americans married into the aristocracy saving that aging institution from financial ruin. It gave me a moment's pause.

Could I purchase a title and become a Baroness?

Apparently, the answer is yes with a caveat that it's far more expensive than one would think. I muddled it over while Adele sang of fires.

One of my biggest character flaws or charming traits (depending on perspective) is that once an idea takes hold, I'm hard pressed to give up on it. (Yes, yes. Stubborn as a country mule. I know.) In this case that stubbornness was rewarded.

It's been official for a little while now. I've allowed myself time to get used to the idea, to decide if I should have my children address me as "my lady", and if I should add the title to my W2 forms.

After careful consideration - and the assurance that the Federal government doesn't particularly care if I'm a baroness - I decided it was finally time to come out, so to speak, as Baroness Mandy.

You don't have to curtsy.