The fancy part of my daily newspaper job involves attending a lot of parties in the city, by which I mean Houston.
(A neighbor here corrected me for saying I was going to “town” one day. “You mean ‘the city,'” she said curtly. “Here, ‘town’ means Brenham.'”)
Anyway, it can be a bit of a culture shock. Sometimes these parties are at private homes that are bigger than our whole yard. Last week I visited a lush estate where a genuinely lovely Indian woman I know was being honored by several dozen designer-clad friends for her 40th birthday.
The poolside tables were outrageously colorful, with flowers as vibrant as the linens, including exotic proteus, orchids and lilies.
Many of the guests blended right in.
But wouldn’t you know it, a guy in simple white grabbed all the attention.
He turned sideways, fluttered his fan and showed his rump when women approached. Not all that appealing, actually.
While the humans enjoyed the buffet poolside, he lounged like a prince, although he could have been mistaken for a wedding veil.