You Only Need One (Part Two, continued from Part One)
Well, the strategy session was a joy. Love SG, even if her words regarding some of my fashion choices seem a bit harsh. (I don't understand her anti-navy-ness. It's so solid and traditional, and in times like these we all need a bit of stability.) And although we did segue into our dream wish list for a spell, I still got a lot of good pointers about how not to ruin my one chance to shine.

But enough of that. I don't think the holidays should be about rules, but more about tweaking them. (e.g., The Holiday Candy Rule: candies wrapped in holiday foil don't count.) And in that vein, I concocted my brilliant party plan of attack: Everyone I've talked to about the upcoming party says that they will be coming from this party and moving on to that one. I, of course, roll my eyes in agreement as if to say, "I know, the holidays are tough. Too many parties, not enough time." You'd think this would really depress a single Twirty like myself. But being the holiday optimist that I am (very non-Scroogy), I saw a golden opportunity. All these women would be so haggard from party hopping that their holiday attire would be wrinkled, stained with champagne (hopefully) and otherwise not-so-fresh. I, on the other hand, only have one party and thus will arrive fresh, glowing and effervescent. I'll be a beacon of kissability. Can't you see me standing under the kissing ball in a fabulous dress, smiling contentedly (not overbearingly so, more like Gwynnie does) and blinging all over the place? (My vision of the kissing ball has a disco-ball-type quality that shimmers and reflects just-so on my blinging skin and party dress.) The best part of the plan is that I can wear whatever I want, as no one will know where I've been or where I'm heading. After all, SG did say, "Ignore the word casual." And with that, I was off to the boutiques.

Three hours and an IRA contribution later (really, why invest in a future without kisses or invitations to parties?), I returned home with my Oscar gown. 'Tis lovely, truly.

FAST FORWARD TO PRE-PARTY PRIMPING:
Primary focuses include: major exfoliation of skin. Must seize and destroy all eczema-ish bumps on UADD area. Hair must be voluminous and smell yummy so kisser will be swept away upon close encounter. Face must glow. (Note to all: Investigate Smashbox Artificial Light Luminizing lotion.) Lips must must must must be plump and glossy. (Honestly, I don't know what life was like without my Cinnamon Lip Plumper. Angelina beware.)

FAST FORWARD TO ARRIVAL AT PARTY:
Convinced brother to take me to party in his SUV so I could ride lying down stiff-as-a-board in the back. Must not wrinkle dress and lose glamour edge. Applied last-minute coat of yummy Cinnamon Lip Plumper. (Good thing calorie-free.) Walk into party glowing, shimmering and glimmering. Have "forgotten" covered dish. Too risky to hold while wearing IRA contribution. Plus, SG said "covered dish" meant food only. Who can eat in a slinky Oscar gown? As if?!

LATER, STANDING UNDER MISTLETOE STRATEGICALLY PLACED NEAR ENTRANCE:
Surveyed the room to see who was there. Mostly the usual suspects. SG was right, casual doesn't really exist at holiday parties. But who cares about other people? Am glowing, beaming ray of light under mistletoe. Am chatting with friends here and there and feeling quite the socialite. Receiving lots of compliments on dress. Good investment already. Should really attend more parties solo in future. Makes one very approachable. (Note to self: lose all-girl party posse.) Really revelling in my glow. This is about as good as it gets. Am happy without a date and not even worried about kissing anymore. Am happy just in own skin (probably due to sand paper-like exfoliation) talking to friends. Have meandered away from strategically-placed-mistletoe and really don't care anymore. Oh the joy of being a well-coiffed girl in an expensive dress with fabulous smelling hair. This is what life is about...the simple pleasures.

TIME TO LEAVE THE PARTY:
Am grabbing my capelet to saunter out of my fabulous evening. So glad I diversified my portfolio with this investment. So chic. Already arranged for chauffeur/brother to pick me up at midnight. (Very Cinderella, plus didn't want the anxiety leaving alone.) Ok, off I go. Heading toward door. "Hey, you," I hear behind me. I know exactly who it is. It is he, the one-time-love of life, who I dumped for cable knit sweaters. He of Pretty Girl. Turning with great poise I see him, "Well, Jeb. What do you say?" I say this with a huge smile, despite full awareness of my John Wayne-like salutation. "I say you're sure looking sweet tonight." Although sweet is not what I was going for, my emotions are overriding brain and I feel a swoon coming on. "Well, Jeb. Merry Christmas." (Why do I keep saying 'well, Jeb'?) "Merry Christmas to you, my love," he says as he looks upwards a bit and then leans in to kiss me. You see, I had worked my way back to the mistletoe without knowing it! A full symphony ramps up in my head and I almost launch into my Oscar acceptance speech for lack of anything better to say, but in the end I get my one last remaining wit and say with a big smile, "Ah, what a treat that is. It's good to see you Jeb. Merry Christmas."

And with that I was off into the starry night. Fortunately, there were lots of steps to walk down so I had the full Cinderella fantasy complete with, "Hey she she!" I stop and look back up at my old flame wondering if I lost my stiletto somewhere. "What's with the cinnamon?" he says with a naughty grin, "My lips are on fire." Under normal circumstances, I would have been mortified, but this boy knows me all too well. And so I just shrugged with a laughing smile, waved goodbye and hopped into my chariot.

And I said to myself, what a wonderful world.

Merry Kissmuch to all and to all a goodnight!

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