Desperate Housewives

As you might know, we just got back from a trip to New York. 

While we were there, my friend was attending a fancy dinner dance organised by her neighbourhood's Welcome Committee (Americans love committees). And I was invited. 

"Bring something nice to wear. Not super-fancy, but nice," she told me.

Given that "nice" usually translates into my cleanest pair of Converse, I was a bit nervous about the whole event, but I managed to cobble together an outfit that didn't feature jeans or baseball boots. 

So on Saturday evening, we arrived at the dinner dance, and it seems like everyone else got the "super-fancy" invite. It was high heels and cocktail frocks galore, along with fancy table decorations, a band, and a silent auction. Yikes. 

Fortunately, "fancy" is practically my middle-name, so I sat down and started making conversation with the couple sitting to my left. After a few minutes of chit-chat about Dutch versus Greek banking systems (no, really), the immaculately dressed lady on my left leaned towards me and said, "So, Sally, tell me all about dogging." 

"Pardon?" 

"Tell me all about dogging," she said, again. 

Jesus. It's like Desperate Housewives come to life. "Dogging? Really?" 

She smiled, and nodded. 

Well, I'm nothing if not helpful, so I launched into a detailed explanation of dogging, gleaned from a combination of tabloid newspapers and gossip websites. Obviously. 

The woman looked absolutely horrified. 

And it slowly dawned on me that I had perhaps misheard the original question. 

It turns out that it's actually very easy to mishear, "Tell me all about blogging," when there's a band. 

Oh yes. I bet they're still talking about that weird English woman this time next year.