A Vampire at The Party

There is a Vampire at The Party. She vamps by in her $3,800 shoes (how do I know how much? Because she told me. Four times.) and sashays in her designer only suits – “Daddy bought it for me”.
It must be said the Vampire’s taste in clothes and shoes is outstandingly fabulous and once I thought we could be friends. I tried several times to with my olive branch, but if you try to open it up with the Vampire it rolls like this:
“I’m having a terrible time. What is there to be happy about? Yeah, I got these $3,800 shoes but I didn’t want them. The ones I wanted weren’t in my size. It’s so depressing. I’m so depressed. I can’t eat anything I have to lose weight (from where?). Are you eating that? Do you know how many calories are in hummus? 102 per serve. That’ like a half hour run just to work off that hummus. I really want a boyfriend, but no-one pays me any attention at all. I’m not having fun. This caviar is too cold to be eaten properly.”

And so on and so forth until the Vampire has sucked all the life out of The Party. And it can happen with such ease and velocity: one minute you are quite enjoying yourself – the next you are struggling to find a reason to keep living. And then she will vamp off to suck the life out of some other unsuspecting victims at The Party.
But when the Suits arrive, the Big-Shots beside, the Vampire engages full sucking power, but this time, instead of sucking the life out, she is sucking up – an intense display of ego stroking, almost sickening to observe. Now the caviar is just right. Now there are so many interesting things happening in the news. Now the Vampire is excited and bright – it must be the energy stores she has sucked out of the rest of The Party.
We have more Manhattans.

The Enemy

I haven’t seen her in years. I haven’t thought about her in months. I hadn’t even thought about the whole saga in weeks. But there she was and here I was and we were walking into the same private function. Exclusive. Limited Numbers. Black Tie Only. Fine Dining and Wine Fine. Private Room. RSVPs ONLY. – All fantastic sounding caveats on a party (I mean, really what is the fun in going to anything if it doesn’t have a guest list? There is simply no sense of achievement or dignity otherwise) but when one finds oneself at The Party with all these caveats and the Enemy walks in – it only spells unavoidable trouble.

I know it’s terribly unladylike, but I do find that childish tantrum throwing is just so, well, satisfying. If only it were more socially acceptable to hurl your champagne glass against a wall, screech and charge at someone with your stiletto. But it’s all about poise these days isn’t it? In the adult world there are so many more rules! I remember being six and being angry at my sister for breaking my crayons, so I snapped the head off her doll. Perfect tantrum throwing. And we all moved on from that quite comfortably.

So when I saw her, the Enemy, at The Party. I did indeed consider bowling a few canapés at her head. But it was Black Tie Only. The quandary: how to throw a Black Tie Only Tantrum...
I started by switching from champagne to red – a well oaked cabernet sauvignon (the most likely contender for causing irremovable and irreparable staining upon spillage). Then I laid the all important ground work for exquisite revenge at The Party – I poured my heart out to the barmen. All five of them. Every detail was embellished and enriched and totally pitiful and by the conclusion of my horridly graphic anecdote demonstrating the true evilness of the Enemy, the barmen were riotous.

A riotous barman is essential to Black Tie Only Tantrums.

My other key secret weapons were:
1. I am great at telling stories to a group;
2. I have an unnecessarily loud voice; and
3. I knew one dirty little secret about her involving two boys, first year end of uni term drinks and the varsity swimming pool.

The Black Tie Only Tantrum proceeded as follows:

Commenced conversation with group at the appalling state of programmed televisions shows ‘these days’, deviated conversation to reflection on popular culture generally, zoomed conversation into celebrity antics particularly (all the while employing said unnecessarily loud voice and drawing many laughs from my audience). Then recounted the documented exploits of Britney Spear that I had recently read online. The exploits here – included two boys, end of year drinks, and a varsity swimming pool.

“And THEN,” I continued, sure the Enemy was within earshot, “She said, look boys, there’s no need to take turns, I’m sure I can accommodate –“
And perfectly, the Enemy spun around, bumping into me. I pulled the ole Italian footballer trick and exceedingly overreacted to the bump, spinning, and tipping my wine all over her and then stumbling into the arms of one of the audience.

The barmen arrived pronto.

“You have had too much to drink!” She tsked at her, and before anyone could say “What did Britney Spears say next” the Enemy was whisked from The Party.

It turns out adults can throw tantrums. You just have to be clever and strategic about the whole thing.