The Tinku Gallery opening was lovely. Lights, flowers, smart people and erudite conversation. No, really! My friend, A looked very glamorous and elegant in a crafted little black number and just the right earrings. She had lent me a dress that had a neckline that plunged so dramatically it was just managing to cling precariously to decency. This would have been fine had I the confidence to carry it off but I kept having to glance down at my own breasts to ensure they hadn’t broken cover completely which was disconcerting for anyone trying to make small talk.
What is the difference between throwing a party here in Toronto and throwing one in London or Lusaka? Well I will tell you:
There is booze left over…not just in the bottom of glasses either but actual bottles…uncorked. I kid you not
There are snacks left over, without cigarette butts in them and no one has taken handfuls from the bags of surplus cheese crisps under the table
Only one glass is broken and apologised for. It is not thrown at someone’s head. It is knocked over in conversation.
NO ONE, not even me, nicked the gorgeous soaps and hand cream laid out in the bathroom.
Everyone left calmly on time and when we cleaned up we didn’t come across the lone random drunk sitting sobbing and cursing in a corner and refusing to leave
Although people may have turned up high not one person bought a hooker.
As you can imagine this is all rather unsettling for me used to more unsavoury end of party episodes. I became obsessed with the hand cream in the loo.
‘You’ve left it unprotected,’ I mutter nervously to A.
‘Someone from England will steal it’
She looks at me with pity from under a mountain of flowers and gifts.
‘You have trust issues,’ she says sagely. ‘Hey I think your nipple is showing….’’