It was one of those parties where you talk to yourself in the bathroom mirror: you talk about how much fun you’re having and then you look yourself in the eye and say that maybe you should slow down on the wine. You speak French much of the night, and are complemented on your accent by your expat hosts. You catch your husband’s eye from across the table and with one raised eyebrow you broadcast plans for later. That kind of party. You adjust your scarf, check your teeth, and then head back into the fray.