A perfectly good cocktail hour was almost ruined for me by a banana.
I was at a couple of dress-up affairs recently and like any experienced, self-respecting degenerate looking to get his money’s worth, I attacked the cocktail hour as if that were the main event. If I were the President of the United States, I’d have pigs in a blanket at State Dinners. Talk about diplomacy — who doesn’t like pigs? (Don’t go all poly-sci on me and tell me that pigs in a blanket would be an insult to some. I’m just trying to make a point here).
Cocktail hours are the make-or-break of any affair. And all the better if they last more than an hour. You got your pigs, your cold drinks, everyone’s saying hello to each other, everybody’s psyched for a good