It starts with a rescue maneuver – the East Coast blonde gets tackled by the Southern blonde, with me in the middle to referee. This is during appetizers.
“Are you friends with Amanda?” etc.
“If I had to have a job like you, I would…” etc.
The East Coaster is getting creamed, so I swoop.
“I like your dress,” I tell the Southern girl, a distraction. “It reminds me of my mom’s old stuff, from the ’70s.”
“Cool,” she smiles and my friend slinks back to the boys, home free. Of course, now I’m stuck.
“I love my mom’s old clothes!” she smiles harder and wider, a chomp of a grin. “In my family, clothes are a really big deal. I mean, looks are a really big deal. Like, if you show up to a family function? And you don’t look good? Everyone will like, talk about how you don’t fit in. For days.”
“Wow,” I answer, eyeing the vodka. “I don’t think I would ever show up at a family party if it were like that.”
“Yeah,” she nods, her eyes halfway between sympathy and glitter. “I mean, if I weren’t pretty, I wouldn’t show up either.”
I start laughing and can’t stop, and everyone thinks it’s the wine.
[ALLE FISTER - AM I THE IMAGINARY SOCIALITE?]