You are hip. You are young. You are tan, and cool and YOU are going to a party. Perhaps a rehersal dinner. Perhaps a bridal shower. Perhaps not.
You arrive a little late. You slink past the other guests with a shy smile and you greet your host with a cool calm, accepting her compliments on your dress. You breeze over to the buffet table, on the prowl. You are looking fine and you are feeling slinky and you are hoping that there is still paté.
Alas. There is not, and you are slightly pissed.
But you are fine with it because you have the coolest dress at the party. You eat a chicken wing instead. It is delightful.
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