Rubbing elbows

Yesterday I attended a party given by some well-to-do folks. I was asked to this shindig to be a little armcandy, and a little moral support. The backstory can be found on daytime TV but it is that one about families and how they aren't always very nice. People get hurt and screwed out of their fortunes. This one also involves a soon-to-be exwife on a rampage who will talk shit about her husband at his own mother's funeral.
Anyways. Me. At this party.
First I was planning to wear a simple Little Black Dress and some Little Black Shoes with 3" heels. Then I put on the dress and thought ohmygod what if they all think it is too short?
Which it wasn't, but I had to get Goldilocks on the horn for some closet counseling. We changed into a greyish velvet backless top with a long black skirt and the Little Black Shoes. Briefly, Goldilocks gave me a pep talk about my "nice ass." There was a little hairspray involved, some lipstick, and I was off.
The party was well attended and there were nice looking young people wearing white shirts and long black aprons walking around with little plates of crudites and serving wine and beer. I found that I identified with them more than I did with the rest of the crowd, which was made up of alot of wrinkly orange colored women festooned with big jewelry, and their male counterparts. The exwife character had a little entourage with her--tall women wearing big hair and black coats. At one point in the evening, I was standing alone in a hallway inside the house, and one of these women approached me. "Do you work at the trailer store?" she inquired, referring to the business owned by the person on whose arm I had arrived. She must have been eight feet tall. Her face was ensconced in makeup, her brows penciled in severely. I wanted to kick her in the shins and run. Alas, the shoes.
I smiled at her. "Do I look like I work at the trailer store?" I asked her. She looked me over.
"No, you don't," she said. "No," I replied, smiling, "I don't."
There were big white tents and a pianist brought up from Arizona. He had on a little black vest with a piano embroidered on the back. There were porcine women stuffed like sausages into their summer dresses. There was a man who introduced himself to me as "A man who sells toilets." I had some good yuks with the girls from the Memorial Day BBQ. I did want to slip away and go hang out with the catering staff, but I stayed where I belonged. In the end, I realized how silly I had been for worrying about how I would look to these people, and they were looking at me--that had been the point. But for all my worrying, there wasn't a single one of them I cared about, save for the friends I arrived with.
Also, why are people so orange??