2. One of the items up for bid was to be the headmaster for a day. In the program this was most unfortunately titled, “Head For a Day.” When this is presented to a table full of drunk people in a context where you’re supposed to be semi-refined and respectful, lewdness ensues. “Maybe I should go in on it with someone,” Andy said. I told him I’d write the check, but then asked, “Wait— who’s the head coming from?” because that really changes things.
3. We bid on a condo in Sun Valley for a week. I think we won, damn that wine. Rumor is they were looking for us but we had bid, dined and dashed. We left our credit card number so we thought that took care of things. We’re hoping they’ll track us down and that we didn’t cause any unnecessary frustration because we really want our daughter to go to the school— I mean— we really want to do what we can to raise money for the school. So call me and we’ll pay up! And about the party— the jokes on the word “head” (so rich in possibilities— We’re usually not that immature, drunk or irresponsible, and any day now I know my mom’s going to tell me about our old family money she’s been hiding all this time so I could have a normal upbringing.
4. Sunday, Hawaii Opera Luncheon at the Halekulani. Two woman sang a duet from Madame Butterfly. The hostess, seated next to me, looked down and wiped her eyes. I thought she was moved and touched her back and smiled.
“Why is she wearing those awful shoes?” she said. I quickly removed my elated expression and said, “It’s ghastly. I mean, really.”
5. At the luncheon we had a fritatta, pork loin, savory bread pudding, and when it came time for desert I couldn’t stomach it, especially since there was a fashion show and skinny models were trotting down the runway making me feel like a Jaba the Hut who lunches. I didn’t eat my panna cotta. My Rubenesque hostess looked at my full dish and her empty dish. “That’s why I look the way I do, and you look the way you do,” she said.
“But who’s having more fun!”
“Well,” she said and downed her champagne.
6. Dinner at friends house. People talking about those Harry Potter jelly beans with gross names like, Vomit and Guts and whatnot. “They should make those for adults,” I said. “They could name one, ‘Pussy’.” Silence.
And that was my weekend.