Yeah, so out of all of the bookings I get – the one on a Saturday night, standing there like a stuffed and very much invisible monkey is the one I hate the most. Sometimes I wonder if I should do something dramatic such as open my blouse down to my navel or tuck the back of my skirt into my knickers, just to see how long it is before anyone notices. Might be something to do to while away the hours. Normally no one would notice I was there. Thinking I was just an extension of the tray. Maybe even the table. Just take a drink and move on. Nothing said. Why should they. I am not part of the guests, just part of the furniture.
I catch Brenda”s eye. She looks as bored as I do but with her drinks she can keep moving. I am on the “meet and greet” side so I only need to be comatose near the door, giving everyone a drink as they arrive. A sort of “icebreaker” or “falling down juice “ Whatever is in it, it gets the conversation started.
Some of these women need to look in the mirror before they leave the house. FFS. There comes a time in life when you cant wear plaits of any description even if they are coiled around your head and you maintain you come from the Tyrol. I mean, isn’t that what you have a bloke for – to tell you when you look bloody awful. Apparently not.
My feet willl be aching by the end of the night. No flat shoes here for me. I hate going to this place. Strict instructions on the dress code and not allowed to take any of the food home with you. What do they do with it? I can hardly see him, the fat buffoon that he is, eating it as a warmed up lunch the following day. Bet they toss it in the bin. Yep. Rather than share it amongst those who have served it, I bet they just throw it out. Wouldn’t surprise me. He even makes us wait a week for our money.
I have noticed there is a bit of a buzz tonight. He is rushing around welcoming everyone and she isn’t about at all. Bit of a domestic I would say. He keeps sweating and using his hanky. Odd isn’t it? Posh sorts always use a proper hanky. Something in cotton with their initials embroidered on it. Me, I just look for some bog roll or kitchen towel. Anyway he is certainly in a sweat about something.
Suddenly when all is about to appear lost down she comes. Blimey talk about making an entrance. I could certainly learn a thing or two from her about not being invisible after a certain age! And what has she got on her head?
I catch the eye of Brenda. She hates it as much as me but with her fella out of work and two kids she has to do something. They say our kids won’t have aspirations. I don’t agree with that. They have them alright; just different ones. Anyway Brenda says you never know you may well drop some Tattinger over some posh Bint and it may lead to marriage. She doesn’t care if she marries for love and money or just money. She isn’t fussed. I can see her point. Anyway I catch her eye and she catches mine. We both look down and snigger.
The old bird has just sashayed down the stairs looking like something from the Follies Bergere! She is wearing a gold lame swimsuit – a train of feathers and a peacock plume in her hair. Every time she takes an (unsteady) step down the stairs the headpiece wobbles like it is trying to wriggle away. I don’t know how she is holding it on but she will have a ruddy headache in the morning with all that weight on it.
The room has gone silent. Well what can you say when you have that in your view. Still, say this for her, she has the audience in her thrall.
I can see she is growing in confidence. That will lead to trouble. As she descends each stair she starts to high kick her legs. Not a pretty sight but for some reason you are drawn to it.
“Hey” – she shouted to the DJ, who like everyone else was standing open mouthed. “Put on that Shirley Bassey number. Hey big spender” and with that she sashays over to me and helps herself to a drink from the tray. Who said it was going to be a slow evening?