The party was quite the event. It was a who's who of holiday cheer. There was Danny Bonaduce, or at least a guy who looked like a much less rough version of the "Partridge Family" child star. There was Larry Flynt, or at least a much more mobile, less morbidly-obese version of the porn kingpin. And finally there was someone, who looked like someone I used to know, or someone really famous, although I couldn't quite put my finger on who that was. So after very little debate, I just settled on Bill Frist as the original to his Doppelgänger.
Aside from the two hosts and another friend, whom I hadn't seen in many years, I knew no one at the very crowded and very smokey party--shortly after we had arrived, a log fell from the fire, and filled the living room with wood smoke. I spent much of the party rotating from table to table, eating cheese, dips, pigs in a blanket, and whatever else I could stuff my face with. I couldn't drink, because I was driving. Have you ever tried a holiday party without liquor? It was painful.
Although I may have been bored, finding myself clinging to one of the three friends I knew, spending much of the evening listening to the antics of Kate Plus Eight and my friend's lack of a love life, my partner had no problem mingling. He worked the room, talking to people I barely noticed, let alone could hold captive for a long conversation. By the end of the evening it seemed he had learned the life stories of most of the guests. I always feel like a wall flower in comparison to him.
My husband is too gregarious. Earlier in the evening he disappeared in a liquor store while I was shopping for Tanqueray. When I finally found him, he had turned into some kind of discount sommelier for a low-end state store, giving free advice to a stranger on a white wine pairing for a Chicken McNugget dinner.
By the end of the evening, we were visited by Kris Kringle, who ho ho'ed his way through the party, and a 10-year-old single malt. Suddenly every terrible Christmas memory of my childhood was explained. Santa stumbled his way home to rescue Mrs. Claus from her paramour elves as we made our way home.
And as I sit here writing this, the cats are in front of the fire, and I am finally having my Christmas martini.
Happy Holidays to all and to all a good night.
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