Labeled at a dinner party
I don’t like being labeled. I don’t even like wearing those “Hi My name is xxxx” sticky labels that leave glue on your suit jacket at non profit fund raisers. But last weekend I got labeled at a dinner party.
Imagine the evening. Beautiful setting – Tall, perfectly coiffed Christmas tree, gorgeous table, scrumptious smells coming from the kitchen, fantastic selection of red wines. I was at the house of someone I had only met a couple of times but who had kindly invited me to her Christmas dinner party and I was stag because Bret could not join me.
This was the kind of dinner party only for the elegant. All the ladies (except me – that’s another story) had little black dresses on. All the ladies (except me) had high strappy shoes on. Two even had the same FM shoes on with their little black dresses (how embarrassing!).
Mine was Lucky duck. Smarty pants belonged to a close friend of mine who is a litigator. Yes he’s smart but not as implied – not a show off (well not most of the time). And worst yet was for his long time girlfriend whose label was Little lamb. Now this woman might look like a lamb – blond, beautiful, legs a mile long and very quiet in a group – but that’s not what she is. She’s the smarty pants, misses nothing, and sees through every pretense. She just chooses to only show her feisty side when she knows you well – she’s just more polite than most of us.
A strange juxtaposition. Extreme elegance combined with barbs. Although I would never deny that I am very lucky!