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Monday, December 19, 2011

Is That a Canapé in Your Pocket?

I was invited to a holiday cocktail party at the private home of a colleague and friend who lives right on the water. From previous experience, I knew this would involved high-end catered food, beautiful decorations, and a room full of interesting adults. Considering that the last 10 parties I've attended have involved cupcakes, juice boxes and ankle-biters, you can imagine I was anxious to attend.

The party was from 5-7pm on a Sunday evening --- not ideal from a Mommy perspective because Lucy is still awake. But considering that we spend every minute of the entire weekend together and are about to embark on a family vacation together, I figured she could survive without me for 2 hours.

My babysitter showed up at 4:45pm to find me on the couch in sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and dead old slippers reading Story #107 to Lucy. I had exactly 15 minutes to transform from the Mom-before-the-makeover to Sexy-professional-woman-on-the-prowl. Not an easy task.

I pushed past the cobwebs in my closet to reach back into my cocktail attire section. I pulled out a skinny, long black lace skirt, the type of low-cut, sleeveless maroon holiday top that is completely irrational to wear on a 20 degree December evening, and a pair of sexy heels that I last donned while shamelessly grinding with the lead singer at a wedding to, "Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur" before Lucy was born. Could I really pull this look off when just days ago my #1 job was picking whole pieces of baby vomit out of the lint tray in my washing machine? Questionable.

I threw on the ensemble, perfume, and a healthy dose of make-up, said a Hail Mary, and dashed out the door.

The party, as expected, was beyond elegant. Asian dumplings were served in individual porcelain spoons. Tiny Vietanamese-inspired meatballs were skewered with a single snap pea. Shaved tenderloin sat precariously atop tiny pieces of toast aside carmelized onions. I tried not to inhale my 42 appetizers, which tasted considerably better than the instant oatmeal I'd been eating for the past 3 days.

All of the guests were at least 15-20 years my senior, and some considerably more. The two male servers were closest to me in age --- one in his early thirties (Server #1) and one in his mid-forties (Server #2). I noted that they were both well-spoken and very well-mannered, and suspected that this was a side gig for them both. They were polite and pleasant, but also busy, and our conversation was limited to, "Yes, I certainly would like another roasted tomato and brie tart".

At 6:45pm I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to leave to make it home for bedtime stories. Server #1 and the host pointed me down a hall to a back bedroom to retrieve my jacket.

I was diligently digging through a pile of coats and wondering if anyone would notice if I traded up to a mink stole when I heard someone behind me.

It was Waiter #1.
"Let me help you find your jacket".
"Great, thank you", I said, surprised to see him while the party was still going strong in the main room.
"It was dark with a fur collar, correct? It was very attractive."
"Wow, great memory", I said, as he helped me on with my coat.
"By the way, my name is Jonathan", he said, as he extended his hand.
"Oh, I'm Liv"
"Perhaps we'll see each other again"
"Yes, perhaps we will".

I walked out into the cold wondering, "Did that server just hit on me, or am I just high from the 3 raspberry brie tarts I just mainlined in the back corner?".

Maybe you can transform mom jeans into a MILF in 15 minutes?