Where does it come from, the compelling urge for young girls to act as Victorian social hosts? Child Harbat hasn’t seen Downtown Abbey yet she adores a china tea set she got for Christmas and has hosted several soirees at our house, with rules of etiquette that far surpass our daily eating rituals that make pigs at the trough seem refined by comparison. No, for CH’s tea parties there is a specified time for each guest to arrive, a place to sit, a full place setting, and the knuckle-biting excitement of REAL TEA and and condiments. That’s right, this tea set isn’t some plastic toy kit, it’s the real McCoy at half scale. If you’re lucky to be invited to The Event of the Year, you’ll get to put real cream in your herbal tea (it’s an acquired taste), sprinkle in real sugar, down the entire cup because it’s only slightly larger than a thimble, and try to smile through the searing pain in your knees and inner thighs as you’re forced to sit in a ten-inch high chair and do the splits to be able to sit up against a table that reaches your shins. But you do get to nibble on little chocolates and hold your pinkie up in the air so it’s not all bad news. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m spending this holiday at home with the kids and I have an impatient hostess who can’t BELIEVE she has to wait five minutes for her guest. Carson, fetch my top hat and cummerbund!