Overwhelmingly the guests were fuzzy. Glittery and fuzzy. I had a hard time keeping my hands to myself. It was calling my name, all the velvet and fur and fluffy silky feathers. I fit right in since I decked my alltogether in Grammy R's cashmere sweater and the black mink coat she wore to the Waldorf Astoria in the winter of 1935.
Tom, me and our fellow partygoers swanned about Suzanne's lovely crib. Mid-evening, there was a well-attended tour that included a looksee at Margaux's tricked out playroom and Preston's man-room.
Michael K was looking buff as a gold button. After the recent ice storm, he shoveled his entire driveway so the cleaning ladies could park their mini-van. Except when the girls arrived, they decided to do a Uturn in front of the neighbor's house and they slid the entire way down the neighbor's driveway. So Michael had to go shovel their driveway too. Lynn went all limp and dreamy-eyed over Michael's strength and stamina.
Melissa rocked a pearl necklace, magical cleavage and a flirty plaid skirt. Visions of turkey chili danced in her head. And double-stuffed yams. And spinach au gratin. There was talk about elves in yarmulkes prancing around lighting Christmas menorahs.
Jen looked goregous as usual and so did Kerry. Kerry would have gotten lost on the way over but luckily Choo rigged himeself out with dayglo orange gloves featuring a compass and flashing red lights. Upon questioning, we learned that the gloves were not superhero gloves. You can get them anywhere.