Snarklings vs the Snarkometer, round 28
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention please? Will the owner of a 1990 Sebring convertible please report to the valet station? Your car's being towed."
Amy Harrington bit her lip, tasting the chalky flavor of Beach Peach, as a snicker rolled through the gallery. Had her mother heard the announcement too?
She craned her neck, peering around hairdos fresh from chic salons and suits that cost more than the monthly rent on her condo. No doubt about it. When her mother threw a fundraiser, Santa Barbara's finest showed up.
Across the gallery foyer, Amy located Deirdre Harrington by zeroing in on a face stark with shock and dismay.
"Yours?" her mother mouthed.
Who else's would it be, Amy wanted to scream. Not the Mayor's, not the County Supervisors' nor any of the other exalted guests who wouldn't be caught dead in an American car.
Which left the one screw-up in the room.
Amy tried to suppress an earthquake-sized shudder as her mother edged away from the head of the gallery and wove her way through the crowd, bearing down on her daughter with stains of color riding high on her cheeks.
"How could you," she hissed in Amy's ear while managing to maintain a placid smile at passing acquaintances. "On today of all days."
Nonplussed, Amy stared. "Mother, I'm not out to deliberately ruin your world."
Her car is being towed from valet parking? Talk about over reaction to a small tip! Why is she still standing there with her mom instead of going out to throw herself bodily at the tow truck driver? And why is Mom so concerned about it? Does she know there is a body in the trunk? Jewels in the wheelwell? Miss Snark snogging in the back seat with Mr Clooney?
There's nothing overtly wrong with this, but you're gonna have to show me some rockets real soon to hold my attention.