The evening started off so well! An exclusive invitation to a private party in the Beverly Hills, a private valet company, a shuttle ride up to the front door because the driveway was just that long, open bar, truffle oil…an Oreo’s dream! I didn’t check the list, but I was pretty sure I would be the only or one of just a few of colors there.
Just getting in the door without wearing the catering company’s uniform was probably proof enough of my Oreo-ness, but in a discussion about pets wearing clothes, I dropped a few lines about how my horse was very upset to be costumed as a bee for Halloween just for good measure.
Half an hour in and I hadn’t seen another person of color, so I knew I was in good company…
…and then we were sat at our tables.
It was all place-card seating like at a wedding. I saw my name calligraphied on a card and walked toward it and saw a chilling sight.
Four other of colors walking toward the same table. And not to bus the plates or refill the water.
As we all sat down, I looked around the room.
Apparently, I was sat at the black table.
There were two other black people at the party and they were sat at tables where they were the only ones. But here was I, surrounded by of colors. Didn’t they know who I was?? I was told that we were sat at tables where we would likely have things in common with the other people. What, I wonder, might the five of us be expected to connect over?
To reclaim my standing as a good self-loathing Oreo, I made mention of how much I admired a painting on the other side of the room. It was a cheerful, brightly colored depiction of black people picking cotton. Saying that I liked this piece made it pretty clear that I wasn’t a regular black person as an RBP might ask the question of WTF was going through that rich white woman’s mind when she decided that she needed to buy a cartoon of slaves and hang it in her dining room.
But before I could form that question, I was distracted by the painting that hung on the wall just beside me–over the black table.
It was a painting of a watermelon slice.
Sigh. Sometimes even the best Oreo is lost for words.
And I should have known…I’ve gotten in trouble for not checking the roster before. I’ve also been duped by fancy parties before. Hmm, things to do for the new year—create Oreo Party Survival Guide…or maybe just get comfortable in my own skin…nah, we’ll go with the survival guide!
Luckily, there was enough fois gras and Scandinavian holiday pictures to share to distract me until it was time to take the shuttle back down to my car where I reflected not on how oddly placed the pictures were…but more on how being rich looks really effing awesome. A sidewalk to front door shuttle? Really? C’mon!
What kind of party would you throw with unlimited funds? Do you have any art at home that might be suspect? Let us know in the comments.
Hey look, it’s me throwing a Christmas party!…just in case you haven’t had the chance to see it yet. 😉
You rock Aydrea! Love it! ” no hot chocolate . . .because it’s brown.” Fabulous, girl!! Keep up the amazing work.
Teehee! Thanks! We should so a blog or video collab next year!
A watermelon slice? Even an oreo can’t get away with commenting on that!