Sworn Truth

I promise to tell the whole truth, and thus will admit that I have not gone as low as I'll probably ever go. Recently, however, I was asked (at the last minute, of course) to accompany a well-intentioned but still very amateur chanteuse at a birthday/anniversary party. She sang a Shania Twain song to her husband (and the dozen or so invited guests). On arriving at the party, I was ushered into the kitchen (so as not to raise any suspicions--accompanists must be heard, never seen) and offered a glass of champagne. How considerate, I thought, just as the glass was whisked from my hand. (!) Sorry, the hostess explained, there were not quite enough champagne glasses to go round. (I mentioned that the song was a Shania Twain pop hit, didn't I? Ugh.) After the lovely performance (followed by an impromptu, on-demand "happy birthday") I dashed into the kitchen to grab my jacket and, feeling wholly justified, snatched a handful of proscuitto-wrapped, goat cheese stuffed figs off a silver tray near the door. The hostess' husband gave me a dirty, withering look. I felt no guilt. No guilt whatsoever. (We will not speak of the pitiful compensation.)