Country Club Erin

Ce soir, I am speaking at a wine dinner at the Country Club of Virginia.

The Country Club of Virginia, people. CCV to those in the know.

Over a century old, this institution is located in the center of the old money section of my city. Tennis, golf, scotch, blue blood - this place has it all. Tonight's dinner will feature a selection of Australian wines from Epicurean Imports, and will be presenting a rather daring regional menu including kangaroo, emu, and Australian lamb, among other delicacies. Eighty people have signed up, with about twenty more on the wait list. Apparently, it is the place to be.

If you were to assume that I do not exactly fit right in with a crowd whose median age is 60, and whose average vehicle is worth more than my entire life, you would be correct. But - I didn't major in theatre for nothin'.

I can yuk it up with the snobbiest of them, for a few hours anyway. My Southern accent will turn a bit more posh - which means that I will stretch out the drawl and actually slow down my speech (not easy for me). I'll address everyone as Ma'am and Sir, and name drop with the best of them (for whatever my names are worth).

But coming up with the costume was the most fun part. A delicate balance to strike, because technically I'm working, but I still have to fit in with the crowd. Pearls, naturally, on the ears and neck. Sleek black pants over heels, and a black and gold cropped brocade jacket that I picked up at a ridiculously low price during the after-holiday sales finalize it. My blonde hair is curled, and slightly pulled back. Pink lip gloss, and I'm done.

I look like Country Club Barbie.

When I told my mom that over a quick late-afternoon email exchange, she fired back, "No, you're CCE!"

Perfect. At least for tonight.