Before I was so rudely interrupted,
Manor Ball. I know it's been over for days, now, but I'm still glowing a bit -- I mean, who wouldn't be?
As I was saying, we arrived at the door, where Willow greeted us warmly. A quick look around revealed a party in full swing. I saw George Sanders twirling Zsa Zsa Gabor around the floor, dancing dangerously close to the bar - oh, maybe that's where that stain on Zsa Zsa's dress came from. I must say, she didn't seem fazed by the stain. She was dancing and laughing, then leaning in close to George's ear. George, meanwhile, was looking across the dance floor, seemingly entranced by the lush figure of Marilyn Monroe. My, my.
Denzel, on the other hand, had eyes only for me. We danced and danced, until I simply had to take a break. I had long since lost my near-naked shoes (under a potted plant somewhere, if I remember correctly) and was dancing barefoot. We went out to the terrace. I collapsed into the nearest chair. Denzel gallantly took my left ankle in his hands and massaged my aching foot while I did my best not to moan.
Oh, dear. This is bordering on TMI, isn't it?
Fast forward, then, to the end of the party, the delicious brunch, the much-needed coffee, the startling sight of Marilyn holding court in the altogether -- this was indeed a night to remember.
Willow, you are indeed the hostess with the mostest. Thank you again for your gracious hospitality.
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