Mrs. Astor

I went to a very nice party last night.

OK, I kind of threw a very nice party last night, all modesty aside. I was, as always, alarmingly underfunded in the wardrobe department for such an event, and as always had left it until the very last possible minute to correct the situation, so I went out into the foggy gloom of the late afternoon to buy me some fancy-ass duds.

And once again my favorite little boutique on the lower Cape hooked me up with a snappy little ensemble indeed. It cost a small fortune, but at least it was the sort of get-up that screams THIS COST A SMALL FORTUNE DAMMIT. That always cuts a bit of the sting, I find. Call me bourgeois.

I then made the mistake of picking up some insanely high heels that I didn’t have a prayer of wearing for more than 30 seconds at a pop. Oh so fabulously painful.

But now at least I have a pair of pointy-toed shoes to wear with the few fabulous black skirts I still have in my possession. Although I do vastly prefer to wear pants (if I am wearing anything at all), I actually occasionally do consider a nice, long black skirt to be a considerable asset to my wardrobe. I just never have the right shoes on hand to actually wear one.

And now I do.

As long as it is a totally and entirely sit-down (or lie-down) event.

The party was great. It was, in fact, a total throwdown smackdown uptown get-on-down shindig. I was (for once) pleased with how I looked (no I haven’t seen the damn photos yet), and things went off without a hitch, even after the caterers literally blew a fuse when they plugged too many coffee pots into one little outlet.

AND I thought I would have to work again today but I DO NOT so I am planning to while away the day with my (ow ow ow ow ow) feet up, drinking lots of coffee and reading the Sunday Times.

I feel like a real society dame today, having thrown what may very well have been the event of the season in certain circles, now recuperating by sleeping in until noon and dishing the dirt from the night before with my girlfriends and co-conspirators.

I should really be langourously wielding a long, ivory cigarette holder with an unlit cigarette in it, shuffling around in some fabulous chiffon-y negligee with poofy high-heeled slippers. Where the hell are my poofy high-heeled slippers?

Hmmmm… I do have this feather boa…

Oh James, do bring in some more tea and toast, won’t you?

2 Thoughts.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *