The Age of Innocence

The elusive diplodocus.

I’ve lost 11 pounds within the last nine weeks, in spite of the Russell Stover chocolates I wolfed down over the course of two days. (On clearance at the drug store. The cream chocolates!) It’s a sad day when you buy yourself a box of Russell Stover chocolates.

I attribute the loss mainly to my Tuesday/ Thursday exercise class at the Y, where a masochist I’ll call Lynn inflicts pain of immeasurable proportions on a bunch of stay-at-home moms desperate to lose post-baby fat. She makes us do something she calls a “Russian Twist,” which is not an alcoholic drink, but rather something they make prisoners do down in Guantanamo.

The weight loss is good, as it is the start of my “social season.” (HA! That sounds so pretentious.) Yes, since John has involved himself in the political realm, I find I have a social season, much like characters in Edith Wharton novels. There are a number of balls, galas, dinners, fundraisers, etc. that I get to dress up for, and I am more compelled to go when I don’t feel like a hippopotamus.

We had such an event Saturday evening. My hair was a dreadful mess, so I decided to wear it up in an experimental hairdo that I called “an homage to the 40s.” John wasn’t a fan. He said I looked “like a diplodocus.” Big sigh.

My favorite events are ones with auctions. I’m a huge auction enthusiast. First off, it gives me something to do so I don’t have to talk to people. I walk around and intently examine the items up for silent auction. I find one I like, bid, and then skulk around in its general vicinity, shooting daggers at anyone who dares approach said item.

Last year, I lost out on a twelve days of Christmas ornament set to some elderly woman. It pretty much ruined the entire holiday season for me.

I’m a highly competitive silent auction participant.

We left the fundraiser right before dessert was served because we were to meet friends for drinks. At a wedding they were attending. That we were not invited to. And we would’ve gotten there sooner if my winnings had not been misplaced. Oh, it was an exciting evening full of glamour and intrigue.

So we crashed a wedding. Or rather, a reception at a very nice party house. We arrived late in the evening and ventured straight back to where the festivities were being held. It was an exceptionally loud party. The bride was boogeying to Tom Petty’s “American Girl.” John went straight to the bar and ordered a drink. We looked around for our friends, couldn’t locate them, so we called to figure out where they were. They were in the next room, at a completely different reception.

So we left reception #1 and went to reception #2, where we ordered more drinks and ate cookies and stole someone’s maple syrup party favor. We left after a half hour, and John crashed a third reception just to say he had. He ordered a third drink while I stood outside the doorway, feeling very nervous. Three receptions in one night? Someone was bound to catch on. And I was suddenly strangely cognizant of my diplodocus hairdo, as I was surrounded by gorgeous bridesmaids with long, flowing locks. So I stomped my high heels, shot John a dagger look, and we left.

I fully expect the police to arrive and arrest me any minute, maybe even tomorrow during my class with Lynn. If they do, I hope it’s before those damn Russian twists.