I walked out of the bedroom and Fletch looked at me with his head cocked to one side. The “curious puppy” look. He made a funny noise.
“Your hair is giant. Is that the look we’re going for?”
“Well I…so it’s….okay YES, it’s New Year’s Eve. I think giant hair is appropriate on New Year’s Eve.”
“Okay, settle down, just checking.” I sat down on the floor and he sniffed the halo of hair spray around my head holding the spiral curls together. “I wouldn’t get too close to any open flames tonight if I were you.”
Julia and I were the first to arrive at Capital Club for dinner. We were walking up the sidewalk on Martin Street, both wearing Tina-Turner-short sequin dresses and skyscraper shoes. We heard footsteps behind us, then overtaking us, because one of us a) has a busted knee and b) does not wear stiletto heels, ever, because of that and my fear of falling ungracefully from a great height. I like being 6′ tall, even artificially. It’s slow going, though. Precarious.
“Are you girls performing tonight?” the guy behind us asked. We turned around slowly, not quite sure which direction this conversation was going to go, and realized he was with a first grader in a knitted monkey hat, so it wasn’t creepy.
“We wish,” we both said, as we watched the Helping Hand Mission band march past, then throw down in the middle of the street. THAT is how you do sequins.
“What would your performance have been tonight?” I asked Julia.
“Hmm, I think…”
“Cause mine would be Queen, ‘Somebody to Love’ and someone please give me a microphone and a back-up band RIGHT NOW, I may never have hair this big and shoes this high again.”
“Sounds like you had that dialed in,” said Julia.
“I ALWAYS have that dialed in,” I reminded her.
It was a good-looking crowd at dinner. The girls all did sequins in a big way, and you couldn’t possibly say who looked the most fabulous, but it was fun to compare and contrast. We’re all so alike in the ways that matter, but so different enough to make it fun. The boys looked sharp too, in a less obnoxiously fabulous way.
Then there was party-hopping. My first party was back at home with Fletch.
“I have all kinds of news,” I told him.
“Spill it,” he said. “I’m a good secret keeper.”
“Someone is getting engaged right now,” I told him.
“OMG,” he said.
But that’s not my story to tell.
After I put the puppy to bed, there was another round of fun with the shifting crowd of party-hoppers. There was champagne, and animated conversation, and way more food that anyone could conquer at midnight, not that we weren’t game to try. We counted down 2012, and some of us got a little choked up about it, and then made merry over 2013. Mine involves, I hope, Route 66, and cooking people more dinners, and professional fulfillment, and some other things I’m not willing to put in writing on the Internet. Teaching the dog to sleep through the night would also be a huge breakthrough.
One thing at a time.