Down the rabbit hole

Through the security gates and heavy wooden doors of a multi-million dollar Lake view house, and down the rabbit hole to feeling like a freshly minted 13 yr. old adolescent I went. Friday night, Julie's au pair family invited her to "come down after the kids were in bed, and bring a friend if you like" to their party. The parents are true socialites in every sense of the word, and without a doubt, "everyone in Geneva would be there" (or at least every couple who have matching his and hers Porsche SUVS).

Trekking to their house in my American Eagle wool skirt, Polo shirt, and Ugg boots, I wondered just how out of place I would be. The string of luxury station wagons and SUV's (in a city where parking a Smart car is challenge....can you say Ost-en-tay-shuss?) leading to the house left me a bit surprised; these people actually drove themselves! Kudos to them, when certainly they could afford to employ a full-time chauffeur, for every man woman and child in their families.

Entering the party, I didn't get to mingle right away. Julie's seriously ADD 11 yr old kept escaping from his room to go downstairs and eat multiple bowls of rice, his flannel pyjamas, slippers, and hand down the back of his pants clashing with haute couture which permeated every room and every body within.

Kids finally to bed, the professional waiter (in full tux) mercifully poured us some booze (champagne for me, red wine for Julie). We sipped and chatted near the kitchen, lingering on the delicate threshold that divided server and socialite. We bounced back and forth trying to decide whether to take the plunge into la foule (crowd) of the intimidatingly rich, powerful and stylish, or to retreat to the safe haven of the kids' 3rd floor movie den.

Guess what won? The comfort of an overstuffed couch, a flat screen tv, and a dvd of Love Actually. We traipsed upstairs in the dark, taking solace and breathing a sigh of relief to be only each others' company, the rich and famous for the moment confined to 2-dimensions.

The only thing that would motivate us now to go downstairs: the mounds of chocolate mousse that we knew were hidden somewhere in the labyrinth of luxury. Pausing the movie we creeped downstairs, peeking our heads into the buffet room for signs of sweet, chocolatey goodness. To no avail; only now-cold gourmet thai and italian food rested in the elegant ceramic warming trays. We tiptoed back up stairs, trying not to call attention to ourselves, and restarted the film. A half hour later, it was time to try again. We padded into the buffet room, and again, nothing. Fed up, Julie went to the kitchen and asked Norma, their full-time housekeeper currently in an ACTUAL French maid's costume/outfit, if there was any dessert. "Si, Julie, vamo dehors" she responded in her mélange of Spanish, French, and Italian. Out on the patio, SUCCESS! Heavenly little cups of layered chocolate mousse with a dab of whipped cream on top. We each helped ourselves to one, plus a kiwi custard tart for the road, and creeped out.

Trying to avoid eye contact, sneaking off with my friend and a dessert to go watch a movie, I felt instantly like I was 13 again, at one of my parents' infamous soirées. The crazy thing is, back then, my own parents would have loved nothing more than to have all the children mingling with the adults and enjoying the party, never thinking for one second to put us to bed before the first guests arrived. Being 22 and almost a half, I thought I would have had more confidence to go and take part in the "adult" party, but found myself retreating to the familar comforts of childhood.

Maybe I'm not cut out for the "seen and be seen" crowd', or maybe I simply have yet to cultivate the necessary social skills to to feel comfortable among people I have absolutely nothing in common with, which I speculate is a very important career skill one needs to attain. But at least for now, a good movie, a great friend, and a dessert which combined chocolate AND peanut butter certainly trumps rubbing elbows with the rich, powerful, and almost surely superficial.