The Fine Art of Enduring Etiquette: A Treatise by Dorian Marquis

Date: Who even keeps track anymore?

Mood: Delightfully sarcastic.

Another day at the esteemed Marquis School of Poise, Prestige, and Perfect Hairdos. Or, as I like to call it, Cressida's Castle of Tortured Teenagers.

Today, I had the pleasure of lecturing the older girls on how to hold a teacup without looking like they're about to hurl it at someone. Riveting stuff, truly. I can't believe I get paid to teach people that the pinky finger isn't a weapon of mass destruction. Christian was brooding somewhere in the corner, probably thinking of ten ways I could improve my "delivery." Love you, bro, but lighten up. I’m not going to ruin the family name by making a joke about saucers.

Chloe came by with her usual “mom-is-so-unreasonable” rant. Honestly, the girl has a point. Cressida could use a vacation, preferably to a tropical island where the Wi-Fi mysteriously cuts out. I suggested it once, and she looked at me like I’d just told her to eat soup with a fork.

The highlight of the day? A student asked if I’d ever met someone high-class who wasn’t utterly unbearable. I nearly choked on my coffee. (Note to self: stop drinking coffee in front of curious children.) I told her, "Why, yes, I have. He’s sitting right here, and his name is Dorian Marquis." She didn’t laugh—tough crowd.

On a brighter note, I made Christian laugh this evening. Okay, it was more of a smirk, but I’ll take it. My mission to drag my older brother into the land of humor continues.

As for the students, they’re starting to pick up my sarcasm. Cressida may kill me for it later, but I consider this my greatest accomplishment. Etiquette is acceptable, but teaching the next generation to laugh in the face of absurdity? That’s a legacy I can get behind.

Until tomorrow, dear journal. Let’s see if I can make Christian snort.

Yours wittily,
Dorian Marquis

Date: An endless Tuesday, I’m sure of it.

Mood: Optimistically amused.

Today, I witnessed something truly extraordinary: a roomful of teenagers attempting to curtsy without looking like they’d just tripped over invisible furniture. It was like a synchronized comedy routine; honestly, I was impressed. If etiquette doesn't work out for them, perhaps a career in slapstick is calling.

Christian, as expected, remained utterly unimpressed. He stood at the back of the room like a grim sentinel, arms crossed, staring at me as if I’d just declared curtsying irrelevant to modern society (which, between us, it probably is). I resisted the urge to wink at him—barely.

Cressida floated midway through the lesson, exuding her usual aura of "Do not disappoint me." It’s a talent. Her presence instantly transforms the girls into picture-perfect statues of propriety. I’d be jealous if it weren’t so terrifyingly effective.

Chloe, bless her rebellious heart, skipped class today. When I confronted her about it, she shrugged and said, “Why bother learning the rules when breaking them is more fun?” I couldn’t argue with that logic, though I scolded her for appearance's sake. Behind the scenes, I was pretty proud of her strategic irreverence.

The real highlight of the day was dinner. One of the students attempted to balance her soup spoon on her nose during the meal. Naturally, I applauded her ingenuity (in my mind) while externally offering a severe critique of the misuse of dining utensils. Christian shot me a look of pure disapproval, which only made it funnier.

In other news, I think I’ve finally cracked the code to make Christian smile—mentioning how his tie always looks impeccable, even in a tornado. He claims it's discipline. I suspect sorcery. Either way, it’s a minor victory in the grand campaign to humanize my brother.

As I close this entry, I find myself oddly grateful for the madness of it all. Life here is absurd, but it’s my absurd.

Yours with a crooked grin,
Dorian Marquis