Dreams of a Ball have Burst

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We all recall that I was mysteriously invited to a ball, right? Well, let me expand on what has been happening on that front.

I asked one of my esteemed partners whether he received an invitation. I did so playing with him, teasing him (not thinking he was the person rumored to be the king). Another attorney overheard me and “fussed” me about my lack of manners–that you don’t ask someone if they’ve been invited to a ball because (a) what if they weren’t? and (b) what if he were the king? Uncool.

So I returned to the first attorney, closed the door and apologized for any breach of etiquette I may have committed and for generally being uncouth. He laughed and understood the playfulness of my questioning.

Anywho, I hustled to get a babysitter. I also found a formal dress that fit and confirmed that CS’s tux fit, I mean CS’s invition read “Costume de Rigueur” and God forbid we underdress–they’d deny us entrance! I assumed that fancy (French?) language meant that CS could choose to wear a costume (you, know, masquerade-style) or go in a tux. I thought we were ahead of the game seeing that CS actually owns his own tux. All was set for us to go.

That brings us to today. Yet a third attorney approached me to inquire if we were going (Hey, at least I am not the only one breaching etiquette here!). My feelings, if one of my esteemed partners was putting on TIGHTS for me to see, I was going to be there!

He mentioned the trouble he had getting tails. Tails? Why bother? I asked. “Well,” he responded, “the invitation said costume de rigueur and M [a fourth attorney in my firm] said that means tails and white gloves and all.” At that moment, the attorney who schooled me on ball etiquette walked past my door. And he confirmed that, in fact, tails, white gloves and a white tie would be required of my husband.

So, that’s it folks. We won’t make it. It seems this is Society’s way of separating the wheat from the chaff. We’re chaff, uncouth chaff. It’s probably just as well. Imagine all the breachs of etiquette I’d have made at the ball! Good news, we can now try to go to Krewe de Vieux. In jeans. With the baby.

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