How To Make A Party Fun

A splendid birthday party complete with penthouse, buffet, cigars and champagne. Well-groomed wealthy circulated, some familiar, some new. Furs and diamonds and air kisses. Polite chatter about formula one racing and helicopter skiing. A night where you wouldn't consider stopping at one birthday cake, why not two, three...

Thus far it had been a pleasant evening. Good food and conversation under a silk-draped tent. As I finished up my salmon (I'd greedily gone back for seconds, out-eating both men at our table, but it was gooood), I was elbowed by my friend. I looked over to see a belly dancer. Well, more like a hot girl in a bikini top. Uh-oh.

We watched as the belly dancer did little with her belly and a lot with everything else. The most entertaining aspect was looking across the room at the other guests' expressions. Priceless. The crowd demographic was mostly Caucasian and Asian, ages ranging from 30s to late 70s. I was witness to varying expressions of discomfort amongst the women, most with frozen tight smiles and eyes darting about, unsure of where to look. A sliding scale of enthusiasm amongst the men depended on whether their wives were watching or not.

The men got up one by one to dance with Ms. Gyrate, some completely unfazed and more than willing to shake what their momma gave them while others were purple and protesting, firing off an obligatory series of mechanical hip shakes before scurrying back to the safety of their food plates and glasses of merlot. Soon the dancer had accumulated several bouquets of currency fanning about her waistband.

Half an hour later, she started going after the women, at which point my table decided we desperately needed a cigarette break downstairs. I was sober, and my friends were almost sober. Sober sexy dancing with a belly dancer in front of forty isn't something I think I'm capable of. Unless you bribe me with cookie dough.

Note to self: add instant fun with a belly dancer.