Well folks, I'm here to tell you that you can - on both counts.
I went to the opening night of the Joffery Ballet last night. In Palm Beach - well West Palm Beach really, but the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous crossed the dreaded Intracoastal and slummed for the night on the other side of the tracks. Let me just say, there is nothing slummy about the Kravis Center - it is a stunning theatre.
So My Guy and I went to Ruth's Chris across the way and had a lovely, albeit slightly rushed meal (we thought the ballet started at 8, and when on a whim, we looked at the tickets and realized that it started at 7!). Petite Filet and the Bone in Ribeye! Stat! While we were sitting there, we started to notice several of the other patrons were quite well to do. We were surrounded by finely clad women, men in tuxes, and both were dripping with jewels. Outside, arm candies in fur (yes, even in the Florida heat) walked cozily with overly tanned, much older men. Bentleys, Jags and Porches abounded at the valet. Yep, this was High Palm Beach Society.
And the riper ladies, oh, the I Will Never Admit My Age Ladies. I've never seen so much young hair sitting on top of so many old women. Earring were perched in front of earlobes where multiple surgery scars were playing Hide and Please Don't Seek. Women who had to look down their noses because to lower the chin would be an invitation to expose sagging neck skin. We saw a socialite whose eyebrows had been lifted so many times she seriously looked like a scary clown. Why do these people want to constantly look surprised? I don't get it. And what the lady next to us didn't get was an ass. You know the back profile I'm talking about...affectionately referred to a Avalanche Ass - the one where the shoulder blades are the farthest protruding protuberance of the dorsal side of Homo Erectus Femalius. Palm Beach! Listen Up! We don't like that look! Eat a flippin' burger! Get some meat on your toucus, badonkadonk is in. Trust.