Upper-middle-class satire of a college professor determined to throw the perfect party, and a humorless (though very funny) party-reviewing critic who challenges his ability to do so. The final moment of profundity didn’t quite land for me (at least on the page), but the characters and story on their own made me laugh out loud more than once.
WILMA: Listen, I may have been crude out there. I may have forced a transition or two. But at least I was reaching out toward other people and other subjects. I didn’t retreat, and commandeer the couch, and indulge in a lot of macho chest-thumping and groin-scratching with a ruptured rapist from Rhode Island! (p. 51)
SALLY: (describing the party’s unsuccessful start) … [T]he older folks have congealed in a gloomy corner, where they reminisce about Lawrence Welk and accuse each other of having Alzheimer’s disease. … The gays and born-agains eye the goings-on with some contempt, depressed with our condition and their own. Even the caterers are losing interest. (p. 52)