If you wear a short enough skirt, the party will come to you.
Drink and dance and laugh and lie, Love, the reeling midnight through, For tomorrow we shall die! (But, alas, we never do.)
[On being told party guests were ducking for apples:] There, but for a typographical error, is the story of my life.
I misremember who first was cruel enough to nurture the cocktail party into life. But perhaps it would be not too much to say, in fact it would be not enough to say, that it was not worth the trouble.
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