Taking out a good three hours on a Saturday night to indulge in some sipping on fancy bubbly and some nibbling on delicacy cheese, as you allow the flavors to saturate your taste buds with...Okay, okay, FINE! So I didn't nibble and I didn't sip. Rather, I slammed and I devoured as much as I could, like Kirby in battle mode. But those savory flavors hadn't touched my palate in over seven months, so I allowed my reactions to do as they pleased...and, oh did they! I woke up the next morning with an ungodly headache and a lactose swelled belly. But it was worth those three hours of dressing up fancy shmancy, clinking wine glasses and champaign flutes with great friends, giggling a bubbly giggle, acting ritzy glitzy and artsy fartsy while taking a look at the hotel's sculptures and paintings, and listening to a woman sing beautifully in a melancholy melody at a black grand piano.
Yes, it was worth every ache and pain in the morning. And after those three classy hours, it all ends. Finishes. No more! The wine stops flowing, the appetizers are carried back to the kitchen, the piano ceases tuning those black and white keys, and the pianist singer seems to vanish as well. Like Cinderella, we were back to reality. Well, kind of. More like a state of fattened inebriation, that is. And if Cinderella turned into that after the clock struck, then she wouldn't have much to cry about, now would she!
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