I'm not on a horse

I have come to a conclusion about my life.

It may sound crazy, hair-brained, and terribly shocking.... so prepare yourselves.

You see, I was not meant to live in the 21st Century.

My heart genuinely belongs in the Regency Period, where girls of my age frolic in meadows in pretty dresses and lovely hats, know how to sew, dance, play the piano forte, and paint.  Ladies of sixteen attend balls searching for fun and future husbands, and the dancing was never lewd and the music was lively.  The ladies sat up straight, coiffed their hair to perfection, folded their hands in their laps, and called everyone by their last names unless they were very dear friends.

"Why, Miss Jones!  I just positively lost my head when you weren't at the pump-room yesterday! I saw your name was not on the list, and I nearly fainted.  But I am so very glad to see you are well.  How are the children?  Oh and that sprigged muslin is just too lovely.  It must have been at least eight shillings a yard!"

Why has the world gone on to change so much?  Why in the world don't ladies these days wear such long, pretty dresses with straw hats and ribbons and bows?  Why can't I play the piano or paint?  Why don't I have a cute, lady-like British accent?  Why is my grammar not always perfection?  Why are pajamas no longer long, flowing white gowns?  Why are their no fields and woods in my neighborhood in which I could frolic and read novels?  Why don't I own a pony?

And thus, this post blatantly decries the insanity that is my mind.