I got dressed up today and went to a Christmas Tea at a fancy club for fancy women.
It was very Emily Gilmore.
The other ladies at our table and I had a lovely, cordial chat as we sampled a variety of tea sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and jam and pastries.
About midway through the event, a senior member of the club arrived late to our table. Late because she wasn’t going to come.
Last year we were handed a glass of champagne as soon as we arrived. This year we weren’t served champagne until we were seated at our assigned tables.
Last year we stood and mingled and chose from the offerings on a large buffet table. This year we sat and were served.
Seems the chair of this year’s Christmas tea wanted it to be high tea – not a cocktail party format as in years past.
The late-comer who almost didn’t come wasn’t happy with the changes. She wanted to mingle. See and be seen.
Her complaints were couched in fancy lady niceties. As I listened I heard echoes of a Gilmore Girls episode – the one with Emily and the pouring of the tea.
I suggested, aware that she is on the committee, that perhaps next year they could serve the champagne in their lovely foyer and allow the guests to mingle prior to being invited into the dining room.
The other ladies at our little table thought it was a stellar idea.
“Suggestions such as that must be made very carefully,” the senior member warned. “My husband advised me to never be the one to make such a suggestion.”
“It’s a shame that you can’t speak freely,” I smiled.
Being a guest, and not a member, allows one to make such wistful observations.
As my 80-something-year-old-friend drove me home she said, “They keep trying to get me to be on committees and I keep saying no. Too much drama.”
Then she floored her Crossfire to squeeze us into traffic just as our lane ended.
“Whoa! You’re brave,” I remarked as I held on for dear life.
“It has a Mercedes engine,” she said. “Besides, God is watching over me. I pray every time I get into my car. I pray for my safety and for the safety of the other drivers.”
Thank goodness. (I love her.)
Taking pastries home is frowned upon but what’s the fun of going to a fancy schmancy tea if you can’t sneak some dessert into your purse under the nose of a committee member?
I transferred them onto a snowman plate as soon as I got home.
See those two Grand Marnier petit fours? They’re delicious. I have a vial of gold dust in my pantry – real gold – and I’m going to recreate them.
Everything sparkles in December.