My husband has a horrendous disregard for protocol. That’s disregard with a capital D. But protocol is what this country is all about. There are very strict – yet unwritten – rules about what to wear and how to behave for every possible and imaginable occasion.
This disregard for protocol is a family thing. His entire family is like that. He goes to funerals in colored shirts, has lunches with prime ministers in faded jeans and flip flops, leaves dinner parties before the main course is on the table, will display utter boredom on his face when someone does not interest him and comes to the family Christmas gathering in his work clothes.
I, on the other hand, love dressing up. There aren’t many occasions to dress up anymore these days; our circle of friends has been culled over the years from those that are unlike us, and now we remain with the others that don’t ‘do’ protocol either. Dinners and parties are usually ‘come-as-you-are' events. But every now and then, we receive invitations from outside our circle of friends.
So Wednesday we are invited to this dinner party. Hubbie receives the invitation, which means I do not get informed until the evening before.
“Is it formal?” I ask.
“No, it’s that guy I dive with,” he replies.
I don’t really know ‘that guy’ he dives with, but if I have anything to go by, most divers tend to be shorts, T-shirt and flip-flop kind of guys.
“There’s going to be a lot of people, something like 50, so don’t worry,” he adds. “I’m going in jeans.” And he pulls out his possibly oldest pair of jeans yet, and some sweater that might be new, but might be very old as well.
Okay, 50 divers, that should be fun. So I get in my jeans, snatch a clean shirt, wear my boots, and off we go.
The neighborhood we arrive to is neutral; not too posh, not too poor. But when we stop in front of the house, I realize I might be slightly under-dressed. There’s big SUV’s with tinted windows everywhere, and drivers roaming around. Divers that have drivers?
Closer to the entrance, it is clear that there’s a large contingent of body guards as well. Now I know for sure that I’ll stand out like a sore thumb. Divers may come in flip flops, but wives with body guards will come dressed to kill.
And indeed, so it was.
Needless to say, this was not a ‘bunch of divers’. Okay, so some of them dive. But the place was packed with political and industrial movers and shakers. I recognized everyone. From TV. Needless to say, that’s a one-way communication. And all over the rooms floated these lovely ladies, loads of them, size 6 average, well-groomed, soft flowing hair, dangling earrings, French manicure, honey-colored tans, dainty high heels and the cutest black dresses ever.
Can you visualize me, in blue jeans, creased shirt and my hair in a bun. A friggin’ bun, can you believe it?!
Hubbie, of course, in his oldest jeans, looked equally out of place between all these man in jackets and ties, but he couldn’t care less.
I did enjoy myself quite well, once I got over the initial embarrassment. After all, I’m just an ignorant foreigner, and my flaunting of the social rules is accepted; the Lebanese are notorious xenophiles (well, at least to certain nationalities, the Dutch being among them) and besides, you should never take yourself too serious (~ly? Hadile, is it with an ~ly? Help me out here!). And the ladies always have interesting stories to tell! I heard an absolutely wonderful (insider) one on that ABC bear tree, but that one will (upon request) not be shared.
Comes Thursday (yes, the next night), and we have yet another dinner party.
With some other divers. Says hubbie.
It will be casual. Says hubbie.
And a smaller gathering. Says hubbie.
Yeah, right. I ain’t buying that one, so I spend about two hours in the bathroom, trying on everything black and dainty I have in my closet. I get my high heels out of the attic. Fumigate my household members with perfume.
And boy, am I dressed to kill!
'I’m ready', I announce.
"Wear a leather jacket", says hubbie, "it is hard to find a parking there, so we’re going on the bike. "
On the bike. Yes, of course. In my cute little black dress and my dainty high heels.
HAS ANYBODY NOTICED I JUST SPEND TWO HOURS GETTING DRESSED !
Sure, on the bike, no problem. And so I dig out my old black leather jacket as well.
But somehow I feel a little too dressed up, even with the leather jacket. I need something dorky with me. Something that brings me down to Earth. And so I take along a box of home-baked Christmas cookies. Home baked stuff. Taking home-baked cookies to a Lebanese dinner party? Talking about breaking protocol.
Well, I bet you know where I am going with this story. I enter the house . . . Well, I won’t lie, I was not exactly the ONLY one in a little black dress with dainty high heels, but we were severely outnumbered by the more down-to earth casual ladies. The evening was lovely, as always. The Lebanese know how to throw a good dinner party.
And thank god I came in with my box of home-baked cookies.
Tomorrow night I have a Dutch party. Protocol? The Dutch probably don’t even know what it means.
3 comments:
Very nice read!
If it helps, most Lebanese women I know tend to keep a small "emergency wardrobe" in the car for moments like these, when they're not sure what to wear. It's mostly made up of accessories that can either class you up if you need it, and sweaters that can hide the fact that you spent the entire morning figuring out what to wear.
Ahh I had this exact same experience last week! I was invited to attend a party at BO-18, and seeing that the event was at BO, I assumed that it would be casual, even though the invite looked quite formal. But lo and behold, I show up, and every woman is in that same little back dress that you are talking about, and the men in suits! And there I am in my jeans, boots, and long sleeve white shirt.
I just wanted to hide in a corner! Away from everybody! It seems like every time I'm invited somewhere I almost ALWAYS get the dress code wrong.
When will we ever learn? :D
PS..your husband sounds like a charmer! Gotta love a man who is so comfortable in his own skin. Especially in Lebanon!
Loved the post and love the hubbie's attitude. You seem to cope beautifully with it too. Lots of fun! :-)
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