I walk into the room of glittering strangers with my naked feet. Again.
This room is no different to the hells of middle school parties in karachi, except this is the middle aged aunty version in Lahore. It's month end, and a Monday, so I've been in meetings for 12 hours since 7am. I thought I'd have time to do my hair. I last ate a toast at at 827am, taking exactly 3 minutes. It is now 727pm, and I'm aleady 2 hours late to the 530pm invite. I walk in from the heat, and am instantly conscious of my hair, clearly un-blowdried in the ocean of perfect coifs. The second feeling is one of making a wardrobe mistake. Everyone is in some pastel version of green. I grabbed the first designer shalwar kameez I had that was ironed, but i now realize it was the wrong material, wrong designer, wrong bag (last seasons bottega urgh) and i stick out like a lawn spring sore thumb in a sea of some weird new chiffon, and some iteration of a crystal designer spring summer collection flats. I'm wearing the standard Cavalli I bought 5 yrs ago, I can drive and walk in them, and they're decent enough to switch from meeting to soirees, but my feet shrink just a bit in embarrassment as I'm given the head to toe and found profoundly lacking.
I take a deep breath and greet the hostess, taking a moment to thank God I grabbed the flowers some guests got yesterday along with my recycled present. She's airkissing me, looking at my hair and outfit pityingly. Her sister - weirdly also married into the same house in some kind of weird first cousin interbreeding orgy - sweetly presses a plate in my hand and makes me feel welcome. I awkwardly say my hellos, but before my ass is on the sofa they're calling me for the pictures.
I jump up, position myself on a corner perch. They all pose on their good side effortlessly, and i surpress the urge to fix my hair, a youthful stress habit my hands are still twitching to do. We take at least 25 pictures, in rounds of 5. Its nuts, but everyone takes is very very seriously. I don't bother, I just have to trust the halo effect works.
I walk over, steeling myself for the dreaded chitchat. The photoshoot is continuing without me now, and I know they're staring daggers because I dared to break out of the mean girl clique but I'd rather do that then sit and grin like a fool for another minute. Out of the frying pan, and into a horror lined well where either I overshare, or inevitably say something weird that will cause cringe for the next 1-5 business days depending on the depravity of the situation. I latch on the former PTA president, her elder sister vibe and social skills graciously patch my ineptitude. She smiles knowingly as I check the time - she knows my insane schedule well. "Let me guess - month end?" Her husband is something senior in the middle east, I had served as technical advisor to his fund earlier. "And a monday! I'm going to do payroll from the car after this" and we both crack up.
As we're laughing I accidently bump into another someone. She grabs me and ruthlessly hugs and air kisses me thrice (so confusing who follows two vs three). "I just HAVE to come hang out in your garden darling, those pictures you keep posting are just DIVINE". I grin, "No formality with you babe, please come over! I literally attended either your wedding. Or wait you're so little, was it your sisters?". Her elder brother - now a super famous businessman known for his car collection - was in my undergrad program albeit senior. We had attended enmasse and done all the dances, like the marasis we were.
I make my way over and finally sit, and see another acquaintance. She's on the board of the french embassy, I had recently met the ambassador at this signing ceremony for the work we're doing with the Punjab government. I tell her how there were 3 organizations signing with the minister, but the poor ambassador was so confused- and the language barrier so great - he just stood there for all the pictures. I pull out the picture and scroll through my reels - damn my emails are pinging hope its not a web app dev deployment issue - and we both howl at the sight of a serious MOU signing with the classic flags and wood and leather, and all dignitaries and one confused white man posing with no idea he wasn't supposed to be there.
We must have been too loud, because I feel the unkind beady eyes of mean girl # 1 on me. Yikes. Our kids have been enrolled in the same institution since literally age 2 Gymboree, but she has weighed me up countless times and dismissed me. I'm guessing my lack of any interest in all things she values would be the cause of it. I had once launched into the outrageous pricing strategy of Chanel doubling their Classic flap within one season, laughingly mentioning how I went intending to buy the classic only to walk out with just a wallet because they had damn well increased the price from $5500 to $10000. (I still get choked with outrage at the audacity). I think that had been the moment. We were all in one big happy class whatsapp group till around then, but then she had made a smaller offshoot group and had included me, and after that probably went ahead and made another even smaller one to make fun of me. Circles within circles. Someone or the other kept forwarding me screenshots of the vitriol, I couldn't stop laughing. "Oh darling you're looking so stressed and tired" she says like a cartoon villaness. Her side kick is missing thank God. I awkwardly take a step back, laugh and say "yesss, you know, surviving on caffiene and stress", but - poison dart delivered - she's turned away before I finish. I guess I chose my side when I decided to get educated and work, and I'm too strong a representation of all she is not - trophy wife to short nepo baby toad of a man. Her schooling, college, no real accomplishments just too threatening to her self worth. So she clings to her value system, putting me down secretly in little groups so she feels better about herself. Oh well.
I make it out alive - there is a stunning, customized box with my name engraved on it as a giveaway - and I have no doubt it is full of thoughtful beautiful expensive things. The kind that speak of a life of effortless wealth, attention to detail, and free time. Time to get hair done, and manis and pedis and skin treatments, and swapping out the resort collection for spring summer. The tote with my first name initialed into it belongs on a beach in mallorca, I don't feel worthy. I hug and thank the sisters, and escape out the door with my nakedfeet, having survived.
