Down the rabbit hole

Either the social brunch was very deep, or I fell through it very slowly, for I had plenty of time as I went down to look about me and to wonder what was going to happen next. Alice had a picnic at wonderland, compared to me at my first brunch. For one, there were no books in cupboards or paintings on walls to spark off conversations with, and whoever I did mumble at wound out of words like clockwork in reverse, or indeed for that matter orange marmalade, which would have been a welcome distraction at that point. Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end? Self esteem, bravado, conversational skills, ability to remember names—all had plummeted to where the toes in my pointy polished sandals were curling in every time someone would so much as look at me. Do bats eat cats? I wondered, for want of a better topic of conversation, even with myself. Should I ask someone? I pondered and gave it up to turn around and admire the stunning effect of white linen on white, all around the room. Alice had her pegs that made her grow bigger and smaller, and I headed straight for mine—coolers and wines. The wines had ‘drink me’ printed on them in bold letters. I looked for warm brandy or stiff scotch, preferably in one glass, but there was none. No sooner drunk, with a curious feeling, I began to shut up like a telescope. My inhibitions tucked inside, I went around looking for ‘eat me’ pills, popped them and set about expecting the unusual to happen. And sure enough it did, I forgot I was from the land above the rabbit hole, and was introducing myself to all and sundry. Suddenly, conversations made sense, and I rediscovered the white rabbit, whose brunch it was, standing there, very alone, in the middle of a very crowded room. Let’s cheer him up, I said, and went over to say hi, pass a pill, down a wine. We’re doing brunch again tomorrow.