peevish mama

Our friends Circus Lady and Rip Van Techno threw a fabulous holiday party last night – one that has left me typing through a pleasantly woozy afterglow and alarmingly smudged mascara.  These two always manage to walk the fine line between swanky and warm . . . rowdy and refined . . . and Circus Lady deserves a major shout-out for whipping together a gorgeous table of delectable victuals with nary a hint of the blood, sweat and tears that inevitably must have gone into it all.  They are the consummate hosts and I admit I am shamelessly using positive reinforcement to ensure many future fests at their house.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  I love a party.  Thank you, friends, for a great one! 

In any event, I made a big chief discovery last night.  I wore a little fur stole (actually, it’s rather large and poufy – very Evita Perón) and, interestingly, it had the same effect as a robust and protuberant ninth month pregnant belly . . . people just want to talk to you and they just can help touching you.  Perfect strangers and old friends.  Both genders.  Never have I been petted so much at a party . . . and when I wasn’t being petted by others, I found myself petting myself . . . it was really quite lovely.  Where did this come from, people would coo. Aahh they would intone with satisfaction when I told them it was vintage, stroking my arm the whole time, unable to resist.  It’s no secret I’m a fan of fur, and this pretty baby warmed my shoulders and my cockles last night.