As part of my new job, I have been invited to some swanky parties. No complaints. On Thursday night, I attended a garden party at the British Consulate. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was invited, but I sure wasn’t going to rsvp anything but hells yes. I drove up to the destination as per my gps. It was a stately diplomatic residence and I was excited. Since it was Remembrance Day eve, there were poppies at the check in table. I tried to grab one, but then realized mid-reach, that it was probably a donation style affair. I recovered, pulling out my wallet, seemingly covering my near gaffe. With no cash in sight, I was forced to joke at my own expense and quickly flee. Strike one.
This was a networking event. Cards were being traded like a 5th grade baseball card convention. What? Is that a thing? Anyway, I don’t have mine printed yet. My amusing excuse was that I had changed into my night purse and forgot to transfer the cards. Yeesh. Believable. But lame. Strike two.
I made the poor choice of wearing my overcoat on top of my cocktail dress. Since there were heaters and this is LA, the coat had to go. Draping the coat on my arm, I also had to balance my clutch purse and my wineglass. This was an awkward situation for making introductions. I fell in comfortably with a solid group. Since these guys knew a lot more people in attendance than I did, they were benevolently making connections for me. One elder gentleman extended his arm to shake hands. I was a mess of items everywhere. In one fell move, I hurled my coat to the grass in an exaggerated manner. I thought it would flatter the gent, that I would abandon my coat so haphazardly, just to make his acquaintance. Nope. He was appalled. Strike three.