Not long ago I was standing in a hotel lobby, formally done up in an evening skirt, sparkle top and lipstick, making small talk and waiting for the doors to open for an elegant cocktail reception and ceremony. There was, however, a delay. The doors did not open. About 200 of us milled about, obediently, for 10 minutes, 20. The doors continued to not open.
I began to grow impatient, as I had particularly been looking forward to a glass of wine. I wanted one now. The ballroom down the corridor, I’d noticed, was teeming with wedding guests enjoying a reception. Why not? I thought, and strolled in their direction.
I took a deep breath and glided in, smiling and making eye contact with other guests, and made my way to the bar, where fountains of pink liquid bubbled. The server handed me a stemmed glassful and I tasted it. “Pink lemonade?” I asked, my heart sinking. “There’s no wine or anything?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are these guys Mormons?”
“Either that or AA, I guess.”
I thanked him and carried the lemonade to my reception. Well, I thought, I didn’t get my wine, but at least I crashed a wedding.