Tonight, I’m sitting on my couch. In sweatpants. With not one, but two, two doxies on my lap. Obviously, this is heaven.
In the last four days, I attended four Christmas parties. Two were super fun. One was hideous. And one … well, it made me feel like complete and total trailer trash.
Remember last week, when I was all, “Hey, look at my Christmas decorations?” That post where I exposed my soul by showing my Patti LaBelle Christmas ornament and its careful placement next to the Ewoks?
Yeah. The next night? I went to a fete at a home that has been featured in House Beautiful.
I’m not even kidding.
I was my friend L.’s plus one for a gathering of The Fabulous People. I was wearing my black pants that used to drape so well but that now dig into my gut. And the host of The Fabulous People was wearing a bow tie. And he invited us to explore every nook and cranny of his five-bedroom, six-fireplace, heated-floors-in-the-bathroom, scented-with-quince-candles-that-he-buys-in-Paris home.
It was lovely.
Absolutely nothing was out of place. Not a thing. It must be exhausting to live that way. No piles of mail. No Rubbermaid containers, even in the basement. Nothing in the fridge …
Well, that part was wholly disturbing. Three dishwashers, but nothing in the fridge seems morally wrong.
I was sort of glad to go home to my little post-war ranch and Swiffer up the dog hair. But I felt decidedly unfabulous.
If you’re looking for a happy medium between my shack and the 5,500 square foot perfection I visited last week, take a gander at the holiday house tours offered by some bloggy friends: