Party On

You check the time on your new luxury Apple watch, the Brikk Lux Watch Omni. Four minutes after eight o’clock. And based on the cars parked up and down the street, everyone else is already here. Except for Francine. You don’t see her Beemer anywhere. Perfect. As intended, you’ve arrived fashionably late. With time to spare.

You look in the mirror one more time. It’s a good thing you do. A touch more mascara will complement your hazel eyes just the right amount. Naturally, your eye shadow, blush, and lipstick are preternaturally superb.

You turn your head to the left and the right to check your hair. Everything looks good there, just as it should. Your personal stylist, highly recommended, charges a premium for a good reason. The man is an absolute genius when it comes to a phenomenal do. You pull out a hand mirror from the glove box to check the back. “Jacques, you are a true artiste.” You can’t even see the extensions, and you know just where to look.

Another glance at your Brikk Lux Omni shows it is 8:06, so you still have nine minutes before fashionably late becomes gauche. You can’t have that. Even if there isn’t an A-lister among the plebeian list of guests to this dinner party. Francine is almost an A-lister, but you didn’t spot her Beemer. You’re an A-lister in some circles, but until the new movie comes out some would say you haven’t arrived yet.

“Oh my God! It’s a dinner party.” Now what you thought would be fashionably late turns into grotesquely rude and disturbingly late. “Is it a dinner party?” Surely it’s a cocktail party. You wouldn’t make that mistake. Would you?

Time to check your watch again. Thank goodness the Omni is a smartwatch. The evite you sent an RSVP to should be there, somewhere in your email.

Frantically, you search for the evite, switching from your email to the time display frequently. If you’re right, and surely you are, it would still be socially unacceptable to arrive more than 15 minutes late.

Ah, there it is. The evite specifically states that you are cordially invited to attend a black-tie dinner party, at 4740 NW Kahneeta Drive, at 8:00 p.m. on Friday, the 13th of June.

“Oh, no! It IS a dinner party. How could you be so stupid?” Thoughts start racing through your brain, one stomping on the next as they scamper by. “What do you do now?” followed closely by “Should you go in late, or drive home and send your excuses? Along with an apology?” As you start running through possible excuses in your head, another thought intrudes. “Today is Thursday. It’s June twelfth. Friday the thirteenth is tomorrow.”

You stare frantically at the time again. Nine minutes after eight. You switch to email, looking for another evite. No, not heart rate monitor - email. Your fingers fumble across the face of the Omni, the diamonds surrounding the face blur through your tears of frustration, as you cycle through the sleep monitor, the timer, the 30-day abs routine, grocery list, email, weather . . . wait, you just passed an email. You go back to the evite for tomorrow night and close that message to look for more. There it is - another evite. Panting now, you open that one.

“Aha! You are warmly invited to a formal cocktail party celebrating the launch of our new show. The party will be held at 4740 SW Kiwanis Drive, at 8:00 p.m. on Thursday, June the twelfth. Please RSVP to Catherine Smedley.”

Today is Thursday, June 12; right? You double-check the Omni to make sure you have the right date and the right party. Yes, today is Thursday, June 12. Fortunately, you are parked near the corner. You look up at the street sign, praying it says Kiwanis, not Kahneeta. It does.

You exhale, a deep, relaxing breath. “Calm down, and reset,” you tell yourself. Followed immediately by “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Looking at your new Brikk Lux Omni one more time, you see exactly what you feared most - the time. It’s 8:11 now. Another glance in the mirror shows good lips, blush, eyeshadow, and eyelashes. But the hair - Oh, my God, your hair. Jacques would faint dead away if he saw this. And you can’t really do anything about it now.

Time to regroup. Do you go in, looking like this? Almost, if not quite, unfashionably late, and disheveled? Maybe you can explain your hair away as having nearly been in a car accident, and beg to be allowed to freshen up a bit. Or maybe it’s time to give it up, go home, and send an apology, along with an excuse. You didn’t really want to go to this party, anyway. It just felt wrong to decline the invitation. Maybe your excuse for missing the party could be the same one you thought of using if you walked in looking this way - you were nearly in a car accident and just needed to go home and take a Prozac.

You reach for your clutch. Maybe you brought some Prozac with you. You open the Judith Leiber Couture Schloss Castle Crystal Clutch and start rummaging through its meager contents when you hear a loud “thump” on the driver side door. Your door. “Oh my God, I’m being carjacked.” You snatch the pepper spray instead of the Prozac and turn to look out your window.

“Hurry up, Karen. We don’t want to be late.”

It’s Francine. Now you’re trapped. You can’t bolt. You must go in. You toss the pepper spray back into your clutch and reach for the door handle. Francine steps back, looking anxiously at her Rolex. You open the door, step out, close the door, and start making excuses.

Your hair’s a mess, you’re a nervous wreck, it’s almost 15 after eight. Francine laughs, gives you assurances, grabs your arm, and together the two of you stroll to the door. You smooth out your cocktail dress as Francine rings the doorbell. You run your fingers through your hair, hoping you can establish a modicum of order to the disarray of panic you created in the car. The door swings open.

FLASH! You blink in the aftermath of an LED cell phone camera light washing over you and Francine.

“Thank God you made it.” Jacques is all smiles. “And what in the world did you do to your hair?” Your face goes ashen, you reach out and grab his hands. “You wouldn’t believe what I did, Jacques. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Jacques looks puzzled. “You turned my static work of art into a living piece. I love it!”