A couple of holiday seasons ago, I got booked at a really rich guy’s Christmas party in his home. And aside from the money (which was nice) I realized that even in my 60s, I probably still could never handle being wealthy. Here are my notes from that day...
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This place looks like either Tony Bennett, the Pope or both of them are going to show up any minute.
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As the entertainment, I had to sit in a different part of the house from the rest of the guests. I don’t think they’d have made Tony Bennett do that.
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During the cocktail hour (which actually lasted an hour), the waiter came over and handed me a lamb chop. In retrospect, I guess I shouldn’t have made a joke and said he wouldn’t be handing these out to just anyone if he knew the price per pound of lamb chops in Stop and Shop. I was, however, disappointed that there were none of those little wieners in blankets that you get in Costco.
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When it was time for dinner, the waiter actually rang a bell and announced in a delicate, yet stentorian, semi-British tone that “Dinnahhhh is served.”
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The host made everyone stand before we ate while he played “God Bless America” on the Steinway Grand. We had to sing it or I guess we wouldn’t be allowed to eat. Based on the quality of quality of the lamb chop and my love for Irving Berlin, I sang it with gusto.
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Even though I had to eat in another room, my show went well, the food was great, and unlike my family gatherings, the cops didn’t have to be called once.
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Based on the demeaning looks I was getting from the car valet, I wished I had emptied the ashtrays in my car and cleaned out the Burger King wrappers, coffee cups and remnant bagel crumbs. Nevertheless I gave him a dollar tip. I hope that was enough.
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Driving home, I realized that I might still be a sow’s ear among silk purses, but at least at my friends’ houses, we didn’t have to sing for our supper and we all could eat in the same room.
Happy beginning of the holiday season!
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