Today is the day after the party of the season. I’m sort of in a funky mood because great displays of wealth and beauty spiral my reality shit show. Don’t misunderstand; I adore these folks. My life has been enhanced by their thoughtfulness and generosity. Still there’s all that wealth. And while its never the proverbial elephant in the room it is not casually dismissed when one stands in a private event space festooned in ‘wallpaper’ made of thousands of showy roses and tropical blossoms. It was a heady smell of money.
And my TOM FORD ‘Sahara Noir’ because that’s what I drenched myself in prior to smoothly sliding across the rented town car’s leather seat to, well, ‘town car’ myself to the party. I could have grabbed a cab but it seemed a tad pedestrian after spending an hour at SAKS ensuring my socks matched my suit to Edith Head standards. That particular fragrance lured a cougar to my personal space. A woman of a certain age who should be embarrassed in grinding her woman bits against by upper thigh on the dance floor. It didn’t annoy me as much as it bored me.
I hate going solo to these types of events. Invariably the topic of ‘who are you dating,’ i.e., who are you fucking — comes up and I always skirt that conversation with a shrug and an eye roll. As if to suggest the concept of dating is as antiquated as ringing Sarah on the phone to get Aunt Bea. Who dates nowadays when there are apps to tap for instant cock? I’ve not explored this path but one does read of these modern conveniences.
I recently dined with a group of business colleagues — all women, who asked about why I’m single at this age. “This age” is the proverbial ‘somewhere between 40 and death’ from AUNTIE MAME. But I digress.
In the space of two minutes I regaled my fellow kale salad listeners with the tale of the demise of my long-term partnership. Booze, pills, and that early a.m ER visit story line pitched to a rapt audience. It was so easy to pull it all up. To feel that anger. To taste the late-in-life bitterness that brews from a bubbling gut of shoulda’ woulda’ coulda’. But then what would I have changed had I known the path? Nothing. Nothing at all. My father always said I had the brains “God gave a goose.” And that’s okay. People are generally threatened by smarts. I’ve done okay with what I have. My lot in life isn’t all that miserable. I told myself that last night watching sparks shoot from champagne bottles held aloft. It would have been nice to have shared the evening with a special someone. I wear a lot of TOM FORD to mask any trace of loneliness beneath my tailored suits.