Mrs Goody Two Shoes VII

Be fashionable, please

Sometimes, it is irritating to sip the best of wines when you would rather be having hot chocolate

It was Sunday morning, and I strolled into a glamorous modern hotel, dressed semi-formally in a white crochet blouse and beige trousers, my heels going clickety clack on the marble floor. I hadn't missed a detail, including the pair of sunglasses that complimented my oval face and a sedate but classy clutch bag.
My husband had been invited for a special brunch being hosted for their 'esteemed' customers. This automatically included me since the wife probably is supposed to tag along anyway and I had to dress, and act, my part. The part of a connoisseur of food and drinks, which was fine for I quite like being that. The part of the elegantly fashionable (not just in dress, but in conversation as well) spouse of the husband who hobnobs with those in the higher echelons of society -- that was an irritant, yes. But it was the part where I had to become the practised socialiser that was irking me the most.
I finished the customary greetings with the men in Armani and the women in Chanel who are always kind enough to welcome us with pretty smiles. Their cordial demeanours do please me, and I know perfectly well that the whole system is one of bartering politeness, a no-harm-meant-no-harm-done kind of a structure. My only problem -- I feel lost within the many etiquettes of that structure. Sometimes, I even start choking on the usual pleasantries that come as garnishing to the food that is being served. I mean, here I am, who goes to office wearing jeans and chappals, and there I was, dragged into a manicured, social drama being played between over-animated men and their noodle-strapped wives.
At the back of my mind, aVoice was buzzing, interrupted by the overtly nice Me talking with the elite crowd:
Voice: "Give them a light hug and air kisses, first... Hey, who the hell wants to do even that to almost strangers?"
Me: "Oh, Mrs Mehta, you don't look a day older than 30!"
Voice: "Clink the wine glass, only CLINK, don't break... I wish I was in pajamas curled up with a glass of hot chocolate."
Me: "The dumplings are delectable. Please pay my compliments to Chef X."
Voice: "Now, now, don't overdo the refinement act... Who cares anyway.. Oh, maybe the husband does.."
When the buzzing got louder than the empty conversation that was floating around the table, I knew that soon my chaotic mesh feelings with dollops of awkwardness and disgust will become palpable.
So finally I decided to act the part of the damsel in distress and purred in my husband's ears, "Darling, I am feeling a little giddy. I don't mean to be rude, but I think it's because it is getting a touch stuffy in here. Can you take me out for some fresh air, please?" If you ask what happened, it worked.