As happens in America - or indeed anywhere, but particularly within these 50 States - a friend of a friend knows someone who does something or owns something which equals free fun for all of their acquaintances, acquaintances.

Through such a connection - a London connection, surprisingly - I was invited to the grand opening of a French restaurant in New York City, just off of Union Square.

And, as things also happen, it was a last minute invite given on the night of the party itself. A party on the very same evening that I had planned, no decided, to stay in, be responsible and do adult-like things. Things like life organization. Things such as laundry and cleaning and dishes and catching up on the latest episode of New Girl...
So. My decision was between free French food, free wine and a party in New York city orrrrr a mop, Zoe Deschanel and an early night. Touch choice.

What else could I do? I started texting; I started face-booking; I even started calling potential 'dates'. After texting everyone I know, and I mean everyone - to the pont of desperation that I even reached out to people so new in connection they didn't know who was contacting them and even those who were on prescription drugs and gluten free (you know, the typically obvious choice for a party with canapes and alcohol) - no one was available. Nada. I realized I was on my own. I would either need to man up and get comfortable being the girl without a date, or spend the rest of my evening watching other (fake) people live their lives on my television while alone in my room.

So I threw on my fancy shoes (ignoring my healing sprained ankle), put on some red lipstick and, after a quick self pep-talk, strided out the door as if I were Julia Roberts or Taylor Swift or some sort of exotic model living in the city. Tonight, I thought, will be a practice in confidence and a practice in courage.

I walked in to the restaurant and immediately wanted to turn around and run the other direction. There were 'Beautiful' people everywhere. Instead, I clumsily took off my 3 layers of clothing and awkwardly handed them to the hostess. I walked into the room thinking I would get myself one free drink and maybe one of those goat cheese canapes (very yummy looking things) and then leave. I decided I would run away and then compliment the host the next day on what a lovely party it had been and thank them for inviting me.

But, before I could even get to the bar to order my drink, at my left, a tiny and slightly round woman (who, by the time I arrived had already had far too much to drink) looks up at me and almost yells, "ARE YOU RUSSIAN?"

Um. Right. Good Start.

Me: uh, me? uh, what? Am I? Could you say that again, I think I missed it.

The gentleman next to her apologized on her behalf and asked me my name, politely starting conversation. So for me, the night had officially begun.

However, the small lady would not go away. She ended up being my constant companion the entire evening. After I finally answered her question about my heritage (No, I'm not, sorry) and she learned to remember my name, she promptly introduced me to every good looking man in the room - married or no.

Not that I am complaining, but she made no secret of the reasons she wanted me to meet these men. At one point even interrupting a conversation I was having to ask me/us "Are you two going to get together after this?! Because you should." Awkward.

Me: Whoa! Well, thank you K for that. We'll think about it.

And despite K's inebriation from the word "Go", It was because of her that I had such a wonderful evening. I even met some people without the need of an introduction from her. I also met a boy.

I spent most of my evening sitting at the bar talking travel with a very handsome man in the business of real estate. I thought it was all going so well. So well, until... Until he told me that when he travels his two requirements, with few exceptions, are beaches and, hallucinogenic drugs.

Drugs.
Right.
Okay.

Have a good night, its time for me to leave now. I've had far too much red wine and not nearly enough canapes.

So my night had ended. It was a great night and I regret none of it. I am so glad I went - a practice in confidence indeed.

I've taken to another practice in confidence now as well. Going to restaurants on my own. Either for happy hour or a late meal after a long day at work. In fact, I am doing so now. Blogging from a happy hour in a West Village restaurant. And apparently... I have caught someone's attention. I have just received/been delivered some posh turkey sausages as 'compliments of the chef'.

I wish I could say this is the first time a man has sent meat to my table as 'compliments'. Apparently I look like a meat eater because this is, in fact, the third time I have received meatballs, sausages, or meat in some from as a gift.

I'd much prefer red wine.
Send me a drink next time.
But thank you, I appreciate the gesture.