partying with the neighbors (lyn)

Ronnie, my next door neighbor, has a little cocktail party tonight.  It takes me a while to pick out what to wear, eventually deciding on black pants, a white top, and a purple cashmere sweater.  But it’s my three-inch heeled clogs that give the outfit style, and make me feel tall and thin.  I go next door around 6:30 and the apartment is already bursting with people.  Outside I see everyone’s shoes all lined up.  Ronnie has white rugs.  So much for the tall slim look.  I deposit my shoes with the others and walk in.

Ronnie is much more formal than I am, and has catered the hors d’oeuvres.  Although she is Jewish, she has a sophisticated wreath on her door, and an exquisitely decorated tree.  She has plates of sushi, little potatoes with sour cream and caviar, prosciutto wrapped in cantaloupe, istara cheese (my favorite), crackers, dips, and champagne.  She is dressed in a red silk kimono top and another of her friends is in sequins.  I feel underdressed.

I know just about everyone, or at least by sight.  It’s easy to feel comfortable.  By the time I leave, I’ve tasted each hors d’oeuvres more than once, received a big compliment about my weight-loss and inspired a neighbor to come to a weight watchers meeting, become high from two glasses of champagne, and talked with people I see frequently but speak to rarely.  In fact, three of us have decided to see a screening of a movie at my house sometime soon. 

One woman temporarily breaks the holiday spirit.  She dramatically and loudly announces, “I need to leave, I don’t like the smell in here,” and pushes her way through the guests to the front door and leaves.   She apparently has been feuding with one of her neighbors (who is also at the party) over some apartment construction work that was done twenty years ago.

I feel like I’m back in a college dorm, but with champagne instead of pot and much better food.