Wife and I went to a ball last night, along with Kind But Deadly Couple, Governmental Head of Communications With Filthy Laugh and Sardonic Scot, and any number of others.
The high point (also the low point) of the night was probably Woman Who Dressed As An Elf At Christmas (who was absolutely CLITTED), returning to her Eastern European roots and proclaiming the beauty of my face (which she held in a tight grip, as if it were a live goose) and responding to my demurrals with cries of “Ttcch!” and hard slaps round said face.
The charm and the comedy of the situation wore off after about ten minutes, but Woman Who Dressed As An Elf At Christmas seemed keen to keep the proclamations of beauty with assault and battery routine going for a couple of hours more, resulting in my having to wrestle her arms flat onto the table and pin them there, whilst trying to maintain an aura of amused matiness that I certainly didn’t feel. Oh well…
We had a great time (partially because of this incident), but also because of the company and the unspoken but cheering decision that we would drink only Champagne all night. It was a fairly small ball: probably only 120 people – but I think I preferred it to those huge ones (that can feel a little like one of those American cult mass weddings), and it’s nice to look around and realise that you pretty much know most of the people in the room.
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