Saturday night my husband and I were invited to a private reception at the Australian Embassy in Washington, honoring and introducing a young entrepreneur who has brought her business to the United States. Her company does risk analysis and safety planning for helicopter medical services, something that is sorely needed.
Last time we went to one of these things, the chairman of a high-profile government agency walked up to me and said, "Young lady, your husband is a very smart and important person." It took all that is within me to say, "Oh yeah? So how come he hasn't cleaned out the basement yet??"
So, anyway, we spent most of Saturday getting ready to go to this soirée, and I had to go to TJ Maxx and see if there was anything there for me to wear. I had a skirt and a jacket but I needed a blouse that wasn't black velvet, since it's springtime and not wintery. He, on the other hand, had to put on his penguin suit. And that's all.
So we got all dolled up, and when we walked out our front door, our neighbors applauded.
We got into the Jaguar, which just looks all the cooler when the driver is wearing a tux, and headed across the river and up 14th Street to Massachusetts Avenue, and Embassy Row.
We got to the embassy on time, and he dropped me off and parked the car a couple of blocks away. We cleared security and walked in. And stood. For three hours. In uncomfortable shoes. And ate little tiny food. Crabcakes the size of your thumbnail. Tuna tartare on tiny little crackers. Little Australian lamb chops. Australian wine. American water.
Lots of people there telling me what an important brilliant visionary my husband is.
Presentations were made. There were no seats. My feet felt like they'd been hammered on the bottom. I found the only available bench, in front of a video art screen, a video of waves endlessly approaching the beach and changing color with each wave. I propped up my feet.
My brilliant and visionary husband didn't have that opportunity. He had to go make face time with all these people, who congratulated him (which probably makes your feet not hurt so bad). He went and got the car at the end of the three hours of standing around, and we went home.
We were hungry. We were tired. We had shredded wheat and went to bed.
Oh, I adore my glamorous life.
4 comments:
Next time, wear black high top Converse basketball shoes, a.k.a. Chucks. Put Dr. Scholl's arch supports in them and you'll be comfy and the coolest babe there.
Did I mention that there are times that one can tell that you have never lived outside Dallas County?
Oh, most people in Dallas County would never consider wearing their Chucks to a glamorous dinner. That's a totally glam bit of advice from the Gospel of Pooks.
You seem to forget that I have first-hand personal knowledge of the Universal Capitol of Big Hair.
The sophisticates wear Chucks.
The Babdists wear Tony Lama's.
Post a Comment