Friday, January 2, 2009

Yule part all night

It’s Christmas time once again and that means non-stop gatherings.
Work functions, church events and family and friend get togethers make for a busy Yule Tide schedule.
Recently my wife and I were invited to a get together held by a lady she works with.
Upon arrival we quickly realized this was not the kind of gathering we were used to.
Now I am not a slob or anything, but I do prefer to dress for form and function rather than fashion.
My wife has a similar view on apparel, so we showed up dressed rather casually. We do have nice dress clothes, we just didn’t know we were supposed to wear them to this event.
It was a house party, not a gala ball.
I was wearing a blue fleece and blue jeans and my wife was wearing a hoodie.
Everyone else was dressed much nicer.
It was like a scud missile blew up a Yuppie mobile. There were cardigans and dress pants as far as the eye could see.
Suddenly I went from being casually dressed to feeling like a hillbilly visiting the big city.
“Well gawrsh, look at them thar fancy clothes. These folks must be rich or famous or something. If I would have known this was a fancy pants party I woulda worn clean underwear and everything.”
OK, so maybe it wasn’t that bad, but I did feel a little self conscious, until they started bringing out the food.
It’s amazing how a buffet of Roman proportions can make me not really care about being the most dressed down person at the event.
One of the highlights of the feast was the shrimp. I am used to the shrimp ring variety commonly found at parties, but these were big, fat shrimp that made the shrimp ring ones look like anorexic cast offs from the reject pile.
Fancy pants people eat pretty good.
I already felt like a factory worker at a royal ball, but coupled with the fact I knew a grand total of one person at the party (my wife) I found it hard to blend in.
Being over six feet tall, it is hard to have a casual conversation when there is a room full of people all babbling at the same time. The noise level dictates you be close to the person you are talking to.
Most people talk into my nipples, and the only way I can hear what they are saying is to bend down to their level. So I spent the evening bobbing up and down like one of those birds that sip water from the cup.
Extended conversations leave me hunched over like Quasimodo.
I was introduced to some people, but never encountered a Biff or Skippy. They were all just regular people who apparently owned some really nice clothes.
I found it rather amusing to watch people sip martinis from tall glasses. I am more of a beer-from-a-can sort of guy.
I could almost hear some of them talking.
“Our hosts are so generous. It’s so nice that they invite people like that. The common folk need to get out once in a while.”
“I agree. It’s good for us to associate with ‘those’ people as well. It reminds us that not everyone will be getting a new Benz for Christmas.”
The first person to flip me a Looney was going to get an atomic wedgie their children would remember.
So for a couple of hours we mingled and chatted and laughed all the way home, feeling much more cultured now that we had spent some time with the Trumps of the Okanagan.

No comments: