Recently husband was invited to a posh, private party at an exclusive location in Hollywood. He wanted me to be his plus one. I did just about everything I could to get out of going. I know he didn't want to go by himself but making small talk among the pretentious is extremely unappealing to someone like me.
First of all, the very idea of needing special permission to go somewhere irks me. Having my name on a 'list' is weird.
Second of all, I am a natural extreme introvert. It's not that I don't like people. I do. I like to watch them, not engage with them. And when I do engage, I like the potential for long term friendship, not small talk that will mean nothing the next day. Kind of a waste of my interaction energy.
But Husband was as determined as I. He found a babysitter. He let me rest in the afternoon so my body would behave. (It can get out of whack very easily.) He brought me my favorite hummus.
The invitation said dinner, drinks, and dancing.
Dinner didn't interest me at all. I knew I wouldn't be able to eat any of it. It's not that I don't like food. I love food. I just have a lot of allergies and sensitivities which makes consuming food at an event a strict no-no.
I don't drink. Not alcohol. Not soda. Not juice. So the excitement of drinks was out. No matter how much you smile, they never throw a fun umbrella into a glass of water.
However, I really enjoy dancing. Not club dancing. Real dancing. With my husband. I'm not very good...but he is and we have a lot of fun together on a dance floor. I asked Husband what kind of dancing it was going to be. He had no idea. I wore my lower heels just in case it was real dancing. It's hard to dance well on a still tender ankle in six-inch heels. So, we went. With only the whisper of a possibility of real dancing to tempt me to engage in a society event.
We drove into L.A., through Beverly Hills, and finally found the nearly secret entrance to this exclusive hangout. We entered, had our names checked on 'the list', and then entered a tiny elevator to take us up to 'the house'.
There were three other ladies on the lift with us. One was telling a thrilling tale of how she was getting a blow-out on her hair and the stylist suggested a small trim because her ends were looking tired. She consented. The stylist made a few snips, not even touching most of the woman's hair. And then charged $450 - plus a tip, please - for the the adventure. "It's the most expensive blowout I've ever had," she said. "I thought about complaining...but, it's just money, you know."
To be clear, I am a free market capitalist, through and through. Let the market set the price. But her suggestion that a $450 blow-out (which even she found outrageous) was just money - so not worth the (I'm guessing) embarrassment of pointing out the ridiculousness of the price astounded me. Our yearly budget for hair care for the whole family is less than $450. But...it's just money. When in Hollywood. Or Beverly Hills. Or wherever they have these blow-outs.
We exited the elevator and were escorted to our particular party. You see, if you are not a member of the House, you are not allowed to roam outside your room. Not even the people throwing the party could go to the public areas of the house without a member escort.
The woman escort offered to check my purse. Not on your life, lady. If this party sucked, I was going to find a quiet corner, pull out my book, and disappear into another world. My purse held my backup entertainment.
So we entered the party. I was immediately offered a margarita. Well, thank you for thinking I can pass for 21, I thought. "Just water please," I said.
We engaged with a woman who always manages to say the weirdest things to me. A few months ago when we met at a party, she was reintroduced by someone to me and before they could finish she had waved me away, "Oh yes, we've already met." Move along peasant.
This time, when my husband mentioned the drive that her husband had to do, she told him point blank, with a condescending look on her face, "Change the topic." Who says that?! At a party like this everyone nods politely. And then some blog about it later. But everyone nods politely in the moment. His comment wasn't even odd. It was real. Maybe she was already three sheets to the wind. I don't know.
We chatted. We posed for pictures. I sipped my water and turned down every incredible-looking appetizer that was offered. I even turned down the odd looking ones. Including the chicken nugget on a waffle. What the heck was that? Are we at McDonald's? And just like that I turned into one of them. For a moment only I hope.
Thankfully we knew some people at the party and met a few more. The conversation was alright. Except you can only talk about the amazing view so often. And I am not much of a view person.
After a while, we sat down with a small group for chatting. (And for everyone else, eating and drinking. Lots of drinking). I ended up sitting next to a woman that I had met briefly in person once or twice before but had done some work with on some projects through email a while back. We got to talking. One reason that I hate these schmoozefests is that you can't talk about anything real. Yes, I'll admit my faux pas. When she told me her son was in Europe studying, I had the audacity to ask if he had any feelings about the ECB's new QE program or what he thought of the upcoming Greek elections. "Yeah, he hasn't talked about that," she said. My bad. Next topic of conversation.
"When I first met you, I couldn't believe how young you looked," she said. (We had worked together on the project for a while before we met in person.) "I mean, I thought you could pass for ten."
And there went my elation about passing for 21 earlier.
I complimented her on how young she looked. Because she really did look great for almost 40. She beamed and took down another shot.
"But you've got this whole Amy Adams thing going on." She waved her hand all around me. "When we walked in tonight, I kept thinking what a hot wife your husband has."
So maybe I didn't look ten that night?
She took another drink. "I'm serious. You have this great hair, tiny body, flawless skin."
Um yeah. I don't believe you, but keep talking. Let that alcohol work to my advantage.
She took another drink. Then turned to my husband. "Your wife is hot, like seriously hot."
He just grinned and gave his usual line, which is
always said in irony because of the place we live, but was taken for real because of they type of party we were at. "Yep. Saves me the cost of having to get a newer, younger version in wife number two."
The woman wholeheartedly agreed. She took another drink.
The business ties that my husband has sends us on a work holiday with some of these people - usually to a beachy location, Because of the deal my husband was working on at the time of the last one, they postponed us and sent our whole family last summer. Which was great. For someone like me. Who struggles to engage with people. I won't always be that lucky. Anyway, then the woman said, "On the next trip, I want to see you in a Brazilian bikini."
What the?! Water for the lady please. I think we are done with drinks for tonight.
Even among the LDS population, I am practically Amish in my beach attire. Here are several reasons why:
1) I find it odd that if I were to walk in on you changing in your underwear in your room, we would both be mortified...but throw in a body of water and less than underwear will suffice as clothing in public.
2) I look young for my age. Apparently. And a while back, I noticed that when I go to the pool or beach, I get far more undue attention from twelve year old boys and old men than I like.
3) I like to boogie board at the beach. The last thing I want to do is go looking for the bottom half of my suit in the water if I get slammed hard. Yes. I have seen woman scrambling for their bottoms more often than I would like to remember.
4) My oldest was adopted older. I never wanted to make him feel uncomfortable. Case in point. About two years ago we were getting ready for the beach and he knocked on the door. I was in my modest swimsuit and said he could come in. I had not yet put on my board shorts. He visibly started to see me in regular swim suit bottoms. Reason enough right there.
5) As my boys get older, their friends will too. I never, ever want their friends looking at me funny. And by funny, I mean inappropriately. Shiver.
6) When I wear a swimsuit with board shorts, I am actually already wearing
less than my usual underclothing because I wear mormon underclothes. It's a thing. But suffice to say, I am already wearing less than usual in my modest swimwear.
7) I am very, very pale. And skin cancer runs in my family. So unless I am in the water, I am extremely covered up at the beach or pool.
I could go on and on.
The woman opined that since my kids wouldn't be on the business trip, it wouldn't affect them, so she definitely wanted to see me in a Brazilian bikini. Ummm....does the term business mean anything to you? And why do you want to see me in it?! I politely declined. No, I didn't mark her down or tell her to change the subject. I smiled, nodded, and moved on.
We continued to chat and I made her laugh. She turned to her partner and told him that she thought I was absolutely hilarious. Well, I think so.
Anyway the party progressed. Sadly, I wore my low heels for no reason as the music was club music so no real dancing could take place. Just bouncing. Do I look like a bouncer to you? No thanks. We got ready to leave to get our kids and the woman of the set downs from earlier, remembering my husband expressing polite interest in seeing the gardens she had designed upstairs in one of the public rooms, introduced us to a 'member of the house' to take us around.
He was polite and took us around showing us the 'public' private rooms. We went up stairs and down stairs in teeny tiny hallways (not ADA compliant, my husband whispered). We took a pic in a photo booth and left it on their wall of famous faces and then finally made it to the gardens. Which turned out to be a restaurant setting with a garden theme. It was nice. We returned back to the regular people zone and took our leave.
For a social event, from an introvert's perspective, it was fine, even fun. I never resorted to pulling out my book in a quiet corner. But driving down south again, it was nice to leave the schmoozing, the constant advertising, the billboards, all of it, and return to our quaint little home. In Orange County. Yeah. I know. I'm in the thick of it anyway.
In the end, my husband won this round. But I didn't lose. I made it through and was even compared to Amy Adams, who has natural red hair. That's the kind of night I can live with.
