Last night we went to a perfect dinner party. Our hosts, who shall remain nameless, were a famous writer and a well-known professor, yet from the moment we walked into their home we felt at ease, welcomed, and warmly greeted.
They were not over-dressed but it was clear, at the same time, they had made an effort for us. Our hostess, who is a beautiful woman looked particularly lovely, her big eyes which stare out in wonder at the world, welcoming us. Our host looked casual but so clean with his full, white, jolly beard which reminded us of Santa Claus.
We were offered wine which on the summer night was deliciously cold and then stood for a moment to admire the splendid view. All of the city lay before us, and we felt for a giddy moment that we were somehow on top of the world.
The other guests had obviously been carefully chosen. They had similar interests in literature and art. We were in all eight, a perfect number, which enabled our hosts to serve a cold buffet dinner themselves with a modicum of effort and fuss or so they made it seem.
There was cheese for hors d’oeuvres, and everyone helped themselves without any fuss or additional helping hands. The conversation was immediately lively. We talked about books, of course, common acquaintances, but also photography and hair. One of the guests is a wonderful photographer who obviously noticed the details of our appearances and commented kindly and generously on them.