Just to make myself plain at the beginning of this, contrary to popular belief held by some, I am not really a social animal. Don’t get me wrong, I like the company of others well enough, but I’m much more a fan of smaller, more intimate gatherings–rather than getting all decked out for some kind of a major night on the town.
So a few weeks back, my employer asked if I’d be willing to attend a function on its’ behalf, to receive an award. Given the public nature of what we do, this is a pretty regular occurrence and I’ve been fortunate not to have to do that much of it, so feeling guilty about not doing my part to help out–I said yes.
Then I was told that the event was actually a “ball”, I began to have some regrets. The words “black tie preferred” didn’t help my qualms much either, but I actually own a tux–so it wouldn’t be that bad. Plus the station had a table, so there would be other colleagues there as well.
Of course, being somewhat hesitant about the whole thing, I failed to realize that the reaction of my spouse having to go to this kind of affair would be glee about having to go to anything called a “ball”.
And it turned out that she already a dress for such an occasion, which seemed fortunate. But the dress, and the occasion, would need new shoes.
Well, of course it would.
The big event was last night, the annual “ball” for The St. Patrick’s Day Parade in New Haven. Held in the historic Yale Commons, at the university of the same name.
You should know that the parade is a very big deal. Some 200,000-plus show up for it each year, making it easily the biggest one day spectator event in the state.
We arrived on time for the 7:30 reception with my colleague. By colleagues, I mean to say that we are talking about six professional women who were dazzling in their evening attire. And of course, one schlump in a tuxedo.
But as we were checking our coats, one of the organizers of the event said that because of the whole award thing, that Denyse and I would have to be “piped in”. What? Yes, we would mean entering in a line of dignitary type folks including the Mayor, the Congresswoman, the officers of the organizing committee, etc. All being announced and marched in to soundtrack of…bagpipes.
OK, so that wasn’t expected. But march in we did, and no more than we finally got to our table and I began sprinting to the bar–when they announced my name and began presenting the awards–the first going to the TV station.
(Nothing like sprinting from the bar over to the podium at the very start of the evening’s festivities. Fortunately I hadn’t gotten a beverage yet…)
Award presented, mercifully short acceptance remarks given, and back to the table I go. And finally to the bar, at long last.
I don’t remember much after that, except for this: It was a great evening, put on by an amazing group of really wonderful people, all in a place that looked a bit like something out of Hogwarts Castle of “Harry Potter” fame.
And I got to enjoy a fun time with some great folks I work with. Denyse got a night out, plus a fabulous new pair of shoes out of the deal (which of course hurt her feet by the end of the night.)
So much for me not being a fan of a big formal night on the town. Lesson learned.
(Plus, I’m told I don’t look that bad in formal wear. Proving that there is no accounting for taste.)
