about last night

I attended a somewhat fancy thing last night, something geared towards raising some money for those less fortunate as part of my work.  The place and people were lovely, but no matter what I feel at best like a stranger or at most like the woman who stands next to your table with her bucket of roses.  Roses, I say. Flowers?  And the nice people at the table, they size me up and nod.  A yellow one or two red ones, sometimes a brief shake of their head.  You can dress it up however you want but it is what it is.

One of the women there ordered very fancy champagne.  Being unmuzzled, I noted that I'd never actually had champagne of that caliber before and obligingly albeit with a brief look of shock, handed me a glass.  I held it in anticipation, the little bubbles and the crisp scent. I stood there amidst the din of drinks and laughter. I tasted it expecting fireworks, waiting for diamonds to sprout on my tongue.  

It tasted good but not as good as my 38 years of waiting might have suggested.  I wonder if I am lacking refinement.  I wonder if anyone really thinks about the Rose Girl, how she got there or how she's getting home.