Dear Amritsar,
I was recently invited to a friend’s October Surprise party. I was considering not going, because of, you know, the whole “death” thing, but I was promised there would be punch, and I was curious about how heavily it would land.
What can I say? I’m a Conny sewer of such things.
I was enjoying sharing the salacious details of Hunter Bidenhisbeeswax’s emails with the other guests. Tasty! Who knew the inner workings of east European oil and gas companies could be so…revealing? So…intimate? So…damning of his father’s Presidential campaign? I won’t kid you, as the evening wore on, I got increasingly verklempt. (I’m not ruling out the punch, which, I must admit, landed heavier than Air Farce One.)
Somebody complained that nobody set up a round of Pin the Tail on the Source, but, honestly! Does it matter if the material came from Rupert Mountkilamanjoy, Rupert Murdochyerpayroo or a sock puppet named Rupert the Insquiggliness? We were there to celebrate the birth of a fully grown Dumbopratic scandal; if knowing who the father was was important to you, you needed more punch!
Everybody was having a great time, when the host committee (host, hostess and dancing horse) started handing out rose-coloured glasses. I’m not a big fan of those October Surprise party favours: they make it harder to read the expressions on other people’s faces and, in any case, they tend to bring out the bloodshot in my eyes. That…that’s not a good look for me.
When I first turned down the offer of the glasses, the dancing horse stopped in mid-prance (all four of its feet were off the ground, so it fell on its stomach with a loud * WHUMPF *) and the hostess looked at me like I just had asked her to swallow a tax hike. With a cockroach chaser.
In the end, I wore the damn glasses (suddenly, friends I was talking to began asking if I needed them to drive me home so I could get some rest). I can’t help but wonder, though, if I should have stood my ground (it’s legal in Kansiana), or left my friends’ house to go to an October Surprise party at a bar where they knew how to properly celebrate a last minute political scandal.
What do you think?
Bojack “Masks Are Fascist” Hoarsandbuggyman
Hey, Babe,
You sure you’re man enough to handle what I think? I think not.
So, instead, I will tell you what I know. Rose coloured glasses are traditional at October Surprise parties for many reasons. For one thing, they make it easier to believe that the cheap beer they serve is sparkling red wine. For another, they make it easier to swallow the idea that party-goers’ lives may suck, but at least immigrants and visible minorities have it worse, if not the plastic cup of beer.
To be sure, a host, hostess or dancing horse should not force party favours on their guests. Especially the host. One person’s funny glowing stick is another person’s reminder of the night they were locked in the attic when they were only seven years old and ended up having an intimate conversation for several hours with the ghost of their great-grandmother through the spirit of their recently deceased hamster about how uncomfortable petticoats were to wear.
Not that I speak of personal experience. Not that, if I were speaking of personal experience, it would be any of your business!
Ahem.
On the other hand, it wouldn’t kill you to wear the glasses. (The only historic example of a favour killing guests at an October Surprise party happened in 1968, when exploding cigars got high on nitro and became a little too aggressive. Richard Nixwatmondnewon was positively giddy that night!) Unless it’s a matter of personal conviction (you’re a Reduhblican, right? So, as the party is currently constituted, personal conviction shouldn’t be an issue), it’s best for a guest not to embarrass a host or hostess of a party they’re attending by spurning a party favour.
The dancing horse can take care of itself.
Besides, it could have been worse. Some October Surprise party hosts hand out thinking caps.
Send your relationship problems to the Alternate Reality News Service’s sex, love and technology columnist at questions@lespagesauxfolles.ca. Amritsar Al-Falloudjianapour is not a trained therapist, but she does know a lot of stuff. AMRITSAR SAYS: be adorable, not deplorable. It’s more than a bumper sticker slogan – it’s practically a life philosophy!