One that consists of a lot of ramen noodles. My current employment status-or unemployment status, to be more accurate-means I’ve had to resort to a modified eating plan. Plates would be far more effective, but I set mine down somewhere and someone’s already been by to clear it away. I ignore the waiter’s disapproving frown as I delicately shove an adorable shrimp tart in my mouth to make room for one more on my cocktail napkin. Amie’s fiancé has a bank account the size of a porn star’s dingle-according to her reports, his actual dingle is just average, which is a little sad. Our parents all preach about marrying for love-but really, it’s marrying for love of the bank account and maintaining status. This union is still a couple of steps up the social ladder for her, so in her family’s eyes, she’s making a very smart partner choice.Īs a product of the same kind of privileged background, I will say this financial partnership dance is one of the less desirable parts of being among the wealthy. My best friend, Amalie-who I refer to as Amie and have since we met in prep school-is marrying an insanely wealthy man, which makes sense since she also comes from an incredibly wealthy family. If this engagement party is an indicator of what the wedding will be like, I’m going to smuggle Tupperware in my purse. My taste buds are dancing with joy and so is my stomach. The name of the appetizer doesn’t matter as much as how good it is.
Taking one of the offered napkins, I daintily select a variety of appetizers, oohing over the mushroom blah blah blah canapés. I set the half-full limoncello martini-it’s as close to honey and lemon water as I’m going to get right now-on the table, and nab the waiter as he passes.
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