These days a party invitation is a rare and beautiful thing and a party invitation that promises champagne and a band is as rare as the
Hope Diamond! It seems that as we get older we haven’t the energy for it, or is that all the spare energy is spent on the Otago Rail Trail, the cruise to Antarctica with a bunch of fat Americans or up Canada’s back passage! Anyway, hurrah for the
friend with the energy for everything.
I thought it might be a bit hard for me, and too hard for Brian but thought well, hell, just do it. But after two hours of unsuccessfully trying to get Brian ready, I gave up and instead put him to bed with National
Radio for company. Never in his wildest youthful dreams would he have imagined that for a Saturday night's entertainment!
Then it was find the frock, find the highest heels, (the vertically challenged minus the tall husband need all the props
they can get), find the perfume, clean my teeth, look in the mirror and think I look wrecked so don’t look again, leave him in bed. I feel like Kenny Roger’s Ruby walking out the door – “for god sakes turn around!!”
the tableau when I finally teeter up the stairs (that Brian would never have made it up anyway), is wonderful. A sparkling array of old friends, lights, music and champagne flowing like water. What more could a person want? But for me, it seems something is
wrong. I feel like someone has taken a pot scrub to my skin and somehow it has been scrubbed off. Exposed and raw. Too hard to make small talk, too hard to act interested, too hard to find anything else to say.
So, the tried and true method - quaff
two glasses of champagne in short order. Then I mingle, I chat, try not to eat the amazing food and look forward to the band. But the high heels are a serious mistake. My high high power heels might raise my head to the level of ordinary mortals but are so
thin they slip though the slats in the deck. I am frozen to the spot, trapped on one slat. A step can mean a nasty lopsided moment. Partying starts to look like a very dangerous activity. What about the cupboard full of sensible shoes? All of a sudden
the couch at home starts to seem a very inviting prospect.
Exit left - but the food was fab, the bubbly bubby, the friends friendly, the music musical; it is just me.
PS I seems as if the chemo is kicking in a bit and today Brian is chirpy, talking,
and up reading the paper – small pleasures start to take on big meanings. Perhaps we don’t need parties after all.