These people are acquaintances of B's; I don't really know them. But he wanted us to go, so I agreed. Now, there's a reason this blog is entitled "The View from Hats and Heels." I love my high heels. So when we arrived, I took off my boots and pulled my shoes out. These classics -- black suede high heels, which I love:
When I began to put them on, she gasped. "Oh, you can't wear those on our soft-wood floors." How can you have floors made of soft wood no one can walk on? She herself was wearing the ugliest flats in Alberta, but I was stuck. I almost said, "We're leaving," but I removed my shoes, rendering my outfit ridiculous and leaving me to pad around in stocking feet all night.
What is wrong with people?
These are people who live in a $2 million house (most of their neighbours are Flames hockey players, so you can imagine) filled with every expensive knick-knack, painting, sculpture and doo-dad you could possibly acquire in ten lifetimes. So many, in fact, you can't see the forest for the trees! And they have two of everything -- two living rooms, two dining rooms and a myriad of other "twos". But rather than sit in the "good" living room, we were ushered to the basement rec room. "What can I get you to drink?" asked our host. Things were looking up. "I'll have a scotch, please" I said. "Oh, we don't have any scotch," he replied. "We don't drink it, so I don't buy it." Really? Well, why did you ask what I'd like to drink?!
Do you have any vodka? No. Well, what do you have? Wine. I don't know about you, but every bar should have at a minimum a supply of scotch, vodka, rye, bourbon, gin and rum -- particularly if you invite guests and aren't sure what they drink. Oh, and did I mention they have a bar set up that rivals Montreal's Ritz Hotel's? Too bad it's bare.
So, there I was with wine -- but not the wine I had brought. No, a sweet, German variety that didn't work for me. Again, I almost offered to dash to the liquor store and buy some scotch, but I resisted the urge. Struggling through cocktails -- such as they were -- I was looking forward to a delicious dinner, the hostess being of Polish heritage. I felt sure Polish would be on the menu. But no. Instead she produced shepherd's pie and salad in a bag -- something I throw together on a lack lustre Tuesday. Hopes dashed again. And were we permitted in the "good" dining room? No, we ate in the kitchen. I guess the special one is reserved for Elizabeth and Phillip.
Now, I have had a few interesting jobs in my career. I worked for a big Toronto publisher (just like 'Mad Men'), IBM, DuPont, Expo '86, the original Free Trade Task Force and the team that developed the GST. Mildly important here and there. But as our host was one of those men who never talks to "the wife", only the husband, no one at the table learned about any of my adventures -- and there were plenty! However, he, being Chilean, helpfully instructed me on how fabulous everything was in Chile (sorry, "Cheelay"). To these people, Canada is a country of convenience -- and health care -- sort of like the shipping industry views Libya. Initially, I tried to inject a tidbit or two, but gave up quickly. There was not stopping this freight train of enchantments about Chilean delights and joys. Frankly, I would have preferred to have talked about the "con carne" variety, but alas, no luck.
While they were complaining bitterly about the fact they couldn't get a British pension at the same time as they collected their pensions here (I mean, come on!), I kept muttering to B in a stage whisper, but neither host nor hostess heard a word, so intent were they on Poland and Chile. B, however, knew my Irish was up because after so many years together, husbands know when that happens. We finally took our leave and as you can imagine, B unsurprisingly got an earful all the way home.
That, folks, is my swan song with those people.
No comments:
Post a Comment