Lady Shoutsup Meets American Baseball

I shall call myself Lady Shoutsup for this post…to set myself apart from the notorious Lady Whistledown of Bridgerton and author of the Whistledown Society Papers, a scandal sheet of the first order not unlike an episode of Gossip Girls. Or so I’ve been told.

Commencing forward, “the social season is upon us” as Lady Whistledown would say. Only instead of writing about which debutante dallied in a dark corner with a gentleman at the last soirée I’ll be spilling the beans about the coming baseball season as it was celebrated here at the continuum care complex.

Summer in Regency-Era London is, of course, a far cry from watching professional league baseball in the U.S.A. In London all eyes and ears were trained on the virtues the lovely ladies of the court with all it’s drama and glamour where as fans of baseball will be comparing and measuring and singing the virtues of who can hit and spit the farthest. And while Lady Whistledown might be watching to see which young woman is stuffed so tightly into her lace-up corset that she passes out or that her nipples pop up above her dress in the season's first infamous wardrobe malfunction, Lady Shoutsup on the other hand will be watching to see if any of those Tight Buns of Baseball have pantie lines. Are they called pantie lines when a guy has them? Seems like there should be a more masculine term for evidence of tighty whitie or boxers or---gasp!---just a jock strap. 

At the continuum care complex it’s become a popular custom to have theme buffets on Tuesday nights. Staffing in the food industry is so shorted handed now and as much as Lady Whistledown would mourn the fact that the world at large has dismissed the idea of having butlers and footmen lined up to take those once coveted jobs in The Service, it’s safe to say those days are long gone. The pity. As Lady Shoutsup I would have loved to get my Tuesday night stadium style hamburgers, brats, chicken, potato and pasta salads and chips served by a guy dressed up in fancy-dancy livery. 

But atlas the buffets are self-serve. We do have a tall, very dark and handsome guy who wears a black chef’s cap and a side buttoning, black culinary arts shirt who tends the chafing dishes. I would never admit this but Lady Shoutsup would tell you that the first time I saw this young guy without his pandemic mask in place I embarrassed myself by blurting out, “Wow, you’re really cute!” He’s got a wide white smile, deep dimples and a rich voice and the elderly ladies here all love him. He's also good at his job; we've burned through a lot of so-so servers since I've been living here.

But of course a ballpark themed buffet is not a Débutante Ball and the only bit of gossip this author found at the event worth sharing was a conversation over-heard where one of the residents was telling a story about when she was helping her mother pre-plan her funeral. "Do you prefer a burial or a cremation?" the woman was asked. Apparently the mom didn't like either choice and finally declared, “Oh, just surprise me!” 

The real Débutante Ball took place here on Friday in the form of an Opening Day gathering to see the Tigers playing at Comerica Park and you can be sure that Lady Shoutsup was at this viewing party and the happy hour in the bar afterward. And what an exciting ninth inning it was for the Tigers win! As you may recall last year I tried to teach myself about the game but because of the pandemic I had no one to share the experience with. 

I’ve never been to Comerica Park and I'm not sure I’d actually want to ride across the state to see a game in person, but Lady Shoutsup dug up the tidbit that they've introduced something new this year. A traditional food in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula where it’s a mortal sin for a traveler not to have a pasty before leaving the area. This season Tiger fans can get a Coney Pasty (crust stuffed with ballpark frank slices, coney sauce, mustard and diced onions), a Polish Pasty (crust stuffed with cheddar and potato pierogis, grilled smoked sausage and sauerkraut) or an Apple Pasty (tender apples and cinnamon baked in rich, flaky crust.)

Well, dear readers, it's time for Lady Shoutsup to quit playing with words but not before revealing that this blog owner is mourning the fact that she just viewed the last episode of Downton Abbey. While the ending was satisfying and wrapped up all the loose ends, there's no coming back from leaving all the couples destine to live happily ever after, no end of season cliffhangers. No who shot J.R. And now if you'll excuse me I have a pot of tea to prepare. All kidding aside, have you tried pouring coffee the way the English pour their tea, by putting the creamer in the cup first? It makes a surprising difference. ©