Two Parties, Not One Husband
November 18, 2011 § 23 Comments
Two parties in the last week or so. I never fucking meet people at parties, well, I do, but always married people or women, always women, or weirdos. For days, before the first, I wrestled with my conscience. To go or not to go? In the end, I decided the effort and expense (petrol, babysitting etc) far outweighed the chances of finding a husband and I just wanted to be at home cosily with my kids. Frankly, just couldn’t be arsed. Charlotte went. It was fucking miles away. She confirmed that it was fun but that I had been right: there were no husbands. Phew. Right call.
The second one in the heart of the greatest city in the world promised to be glamorous and extremely well-populated. Right on both counts. Luckily I had a coffin-bearer (what my oldest gang of girlfriends call each other; ie. we’ve been through so much together, we are all in it together for the long haul) to come with me to help navigate, park, and protect. The party was being given by another coffin-bearer, so all the coffin-bearers were there, out to support her. We didn’t really know a lot of the hostess’s guests because a lot of them hailed from her professional life. Apart from the coffin-bearers I saw very few familiar faces and it was not an occasion for introductions. Danny, an acquaintance from a 100 years ago, talked to me with politeness but his boredom was palpable. When we parted I said maybe we would see each other in another twenty years, and he laughed not unkindly but as if to say, I don’t really care either way. Alison told me she had heard I had got divorced since she last saw me and how sorry she was and remembered a car journey with my husband and myself and how drop-dead talented and beautiful he was (that made me feel smug, shallow cow that I am, till I remembered that he is no longer my husband so the glory no longer reflects on me) and how she recalls thinking that he would have been a “number”. On the whole, though, I talked to the coffin-bearers. I can talk to them any time and don’t really need to move mountains (make endless complicated school run arrangements, get babysitters in place, drive, park, spend, etc) to do so.
Still, on balance it was probably better to have gone than not to have done. Not gone just to show my face, because if I hadn’t shown it, no one would have even noticed, much less given a fuck. But just to know myself that I had made the effort. In the days I used to go running, the best bit about the run was the shower afterwards. I fucking hated running. Then, one miraculous day, I thought, hey, why not forget the run and cut straight to the shower? Haven’t run a step since. Marvellous! Still loving the daily showers and so happy to have thrown away my running shoes, (and am thinner besides!?). But it’s not quite the same with parties. You kind of have to go to get any reward. Charlotte says for every ten you go to, there may be one nice person you meet at the end of it. Not sure the odds are even that good, but I guess I don’t think it’d be altogether wise to throw away my party shoes. Not just yet.