That was a party. Tarzan's cousin threw a gorgeous party for her mom - Tarzan's father's only sister - at a swanky restaurant in the Upper Jungle area. There were nearly two hundred people there, all flashing rocks and diamonds the size of my head, chatting and kiss-kissing and drinking and doing all the things they do at party scenes in the movies. Which was not unreal, since a lot of these people are involved with the movies.
The toasts were heartfelt, she is a lovely lady, the food was marvelous and the movie of her life was really well done. The narration was by her grandchildren which was adorable, and she's had quite a life - dancing with Ben Blue for one. (I considered trying to post it here for y'all, but it's MASSIVE in memory and it would not do the thing justice. You'll just have to come to my house and watch it on the big screen.)
Music Man was in town for it - his sister after all - and Tarzan and I really felt glad to be able to attend as well.
And yet...although it was a wonderful event I can't imagine how some people spend their whole lives schmoozing like that. My face hurt from smiling and my brain hurt from thinking up witty things to say. It's like wearing a really sexy pair of shoes. You look great and you feel special, but after a while they start to bother you and eventually all you want is to put on the fuzzy slippers under your bed.
I was so happy to go home when it was all over.
This is me, back to the real world.
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