Sadly I have to miss blogger happy hour on Friday. But I have one hell of an excuse:
I have the gown, I have the necklace and I have the date (hi Blake! Thank you so much for inviting me to this amazing event!). What I do not yet have are shoes, a purse, or the ability to stop worrying that my lack of experience in proper society will set diplomatic tongues wagging and lead Robin Givhan to eviscerate me for sporting an improper hairdo.
See, I know how behave at nice parties. My parents trained me to be charming and good at small talk. People tell me that I come off as friendly and fun to be around.
However, this is a long way from holiday cocktails with my dad's boss and our interior decorator. This is Society with a capital S. The kind that people with four last names, all of them signifying money and power, sit on genteel steering committees for. The kind you read about in Vogue and the New York Times Styles section, which, if you know me at all, you know I read with great care and devotion. I know how to make lovely, mature conversation and put an outfit together, but, to give you perspective, my other big activity this weekend will be playing drunk kickball. I am nervous.
I think I have the basics covered. No fart jokes. Don't get tipsy and spill champagne on the ambassador's wife. Don't get on my soapbox about gay marriage, higher education funding, or, well, anything. If someone asks how Blake and I know one another, try not to reply "We spent two months pretending to have sex in a church."
Any other suggestions from the more sophisticated souls out there? Protocol I'm not aware of? Proper fork usage? Advice from your own brushes with the other half? Seriously; I'm so excited but genuinely a little intimidated. That is NOT a feeling I am used to.