So, you probably have been invited to a dinner party, for cocktails or just an evening out, to a friend’s or associates’ home, and you turn up all excited, because this was your first time, and you did not want to be late, and wanted to make a good first impression, in the hope of securing a second invite.
So you rush, your wife, partner or companion to make sure they get with the program because you did not want them to spoil it for you, especially your future prospects.
Miraculously, you not only reach on time, but a few minutes early, and you pull up, and you are directed to the parking area, and then your party is escorted to the main house, where you are met by a smartly dressed Indian or Phillipino maid, who welcomes you in passable but halting English, and you are now thoroughly impressed with yourself, as you have “Arrived” and you are finally getting the opportunity to see how the “other Half’ Lives, and you are beaming, because, so far, so good, as you are like what you see, and you anticipate the evening will only get better.
And it looks that way too, as the maid escorts you to the cocktail area, where there’s a well-stocked bar, attended by a Bartender and two Waiters, and your EQ, (Equality Quotient) goes into drive, as you are thinking this is how the rich and powerful do it, so you are paying keen attention, hoping to pick up a few tips, so the next time you, entertain, you will raise your own Bar, befitting your station.
The Maid, announces that the hosts will soon be joining you, and as you browse the reception area, trying desperately to appear studious, by walking around feigning interest in what you consider the Art Collection, But its really Kitsch, but you really dont know that. And for that matter, nor does your hosts, because the truth be told, they haven’t the foggiest as they simply hired a decorator to put the place together, and that designer’s only qualification is raw ambition and so he or she rifles through a few Magazines for the latest Look and settles on a look then shops to complete it, and as Art is supposedly obligatory, to complete the home of the supposedly cultivated, that designer, buys a few pieces, for the walls and objets for the stands, and viola, you have a house ready to entertain, not those with a discerning sense of haute style and taste, but the nouveau riche, and those who hang around them, hoping to benefit from the association.
