Last night, I went to Karen's enagement party at the Beekman Hotel. It was a fancy affair on the 26th floor facing the 59th St. Bridge. A very New York moment for a Chicago debutante heading off to London with her French fiancee.
After one River Side and two Beekman's I found myself really enjoying the couples around me. Lauren, looking very Monica Gellar back from her honeymoon; Stella, dressed in an Art Deco inspired dress with her beau; Jo, in basic black with her PhD candidate Art Historian on her arm; Rella, up from DC with her pint-sized boyfriend; and of course, Karen in a breezy white dress reminiscent of a Greek nymph. I've never seen her so relaxed. Her parents had flown in from Chicago with her younger sister. I finally met them...10 years of friendship later.
Her in-laws and the groom's younger brother were in attedance all the way from their provincial village in France. Not a lick of English was spoken by the lot of them and I felt a bit sleighted at their icy reaction to Jo's well-intentioned attempts at French. For country folk, they were certainly living up to the French stereotype of extreme snootiness.
At the appointed hour, I said my goodbyes and made my way to an office party that was in every way the opposite of this lovely engagement celebration. A night of single, home-wrecking, juvenile hedonism laced in debauchery ensued. My eyes are too bloodshot and my blood alcohol level is still too high for me to do justice so I will leave it this: EPIC.
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