RSS Feed (xml)I attended a somewhat fancy thing last night, something geared towards raising some money for those less fortunate as part of my work. The place and people were lovely, but no matter what I feel at best like a stranger or at most like the woman who stands next to your table with her bucket of roses. Roses, I say. Flowers? And the nice people at the table, they size me up and nod. A yellow one or two red ones, sometimes a brief shake of their head. You can dress it up however you want but it is what it is.
One of the women there ordered very fancy champagne. Being unmuzzled, I noted that I'd never actually had champagne of that caliber before and obligingly albeit with a brief look of shock, handed me a glass. I held it in anticipation, the little bubbles and the crisp scent. I stood there amidst the din of drinks and laughter. I tasted it expecting fireworks, waiting for diamonds to sprout on my tongue.
It tasted good but not as good as my 38 years of waiting might have suggested. I wonder if I am lacking refinement. I wonder if anyone really thinks about the Rose Girl, how she got there or how she's getting home.
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