As I suspected, it is fun to get dressed up and go to a fancy wine dinner with your devastating-in-black-tie husband. It is fun to have people with trays full of drinkables urge you to have another glass while you browse the silent auction tables. It is fun to have that same husband encourage you to bid on exotic and obscenely expensive wines and even more fun to actually win the Duxoup vertical of Syrah (one magnum each of six successive years from the same winery - fun fun fun fun fun fun.) And while no one specifically offered to tickle my feet, I met a rather attractive man who suggested we go somewhere else for a drink.
What I should have said, repressively, is "My husband is expecting me back at our table, thank you."
What I actually said, while tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and glancing up at him, is "Somewhere besides this Winefest Gala Wine Dinner for a drink? What, do you not like wine?"
Then I had to scurry into the ladies room and hide out until I was sure he was gone. I knew as I was looking him in the eye and playing with my hair that I was sending out Yes Yes Oh God Yes signals but truly all I was thinking was that I needed to go to the bathroom and wondering whether Steve's cold was getting worse. Despite my shrouded-in-mystery weakness for a certain San Franciscan ex-boyfriend marketing director who will remain nameless (what? Oh. Oh, right, Julian, yes) I am madly in love with the wine-buying yet wine-hating father of the year I married. Not right now, of course. Right now I cannot stand him because his cold was getting worse and he has spent the past two days in bed, trying my patience and exhausting my goodness, but in general. In general I am madly in love with him.
Doesn't mean it wasn't nice to have a strange man suggest that he would like to, well, you know, go for a drink somewhere.
Yep. Nice and fun.