I had to drag my ass to Philadelphia last night for an event we were hosting for an important client. The client, a large local ad agency, gives us a generous share of business annually. So we pulled out all the stops in a private dining room at the Capital Grille in downtown Philly. The spread was expansive and featured baby lamb and veal chops, lobster, crab and beautiful beef filets that you could slice through like butter. Complimented with a tasteful selection of wines and gift bags chock full of Halloween swag, our guests left fat and happy and hopefully, induced to sign off on a generous business settlement for 2007. The unspoken quid pro quo--it is the nature of the work we do.

The guests were comprised mostly of media planners and directors. Now, maybe I'm getting old, but they are all starting to look the same to me: Petite brunette women in their mid-20s. Dressed in a mix of H&M and Zara and shod in Nine West, they're still peppering their sentences far too frequently with the word "like."One has the feeling that they are better suited to speculate who Lindsay Lohan is dating than to discuss the latest Neil LaBute play. It's a tough gig. Most of them are fresh out of college and want to jump into the glamorous world of advertising. It ain't so glamorous. In reality, the hours are long, the pay is low and the only perks these folks know are the big nights out with people like us. These media girls recommend and place millions of dollars of business, but the demands of their clients often burn them out in short course. No wonder I can't keep them straight. There are new ones at every event. Curiously, the ones that leave the agency side migrate over to our side of the business; an irony never lost on me when they call to inquire about a job.

Also attending the dinner was a senior director for the agency, Fred, who has been in the ad business 30 years and has the reputation to match. He brought his wife, Georgianne, with him. I was enlisted to entertain him and his wife at my end of the table while the sales team juggled the 20 media girls at the other tables. Now, if I have any skills in life, I think it's this: I can shoot questions at you all night long to get you talking about yourself, I can tell a few odd anecdotes to keep you entertained and I'll keep your glass filled to keep your head light. Fred is a verbose chap anyway, so we had no trouble conversing. However, I was entranced by Georgianne. A fair African American woman in her late 50s, she had an ethereal quality about her that was soothing. Her snow white hair was perfectly coiffed and she was elegantly dressed. She had beautiful skin, without a line on it and it reminded me of the flawless quality of Lena Horne's complexion. When Fred was distracted by someone else momentarily, I had to chance to finally interrogate Georgianne.

She was as fascinating as she looked. She works as a family therapist a few days a week. She holds multiple college degrees. She plans to get her PhD when she retires, "for fun." She has six grandchildren, loves gardening and she has a terrier named Jack. That was all interesting, but what struck me was the melodious lilt to her accent which betrayed intriguing origins. Of course, I had to ask where she was from and then, the real story came out.

Born and raised in Kentucky, she grew up in a small town. She mused about her large family and the events of her life which were rich and detailed. She's writing a book about it called "Swatting Flies." The led into a discourse about the origins of blue grass and then, of course, to southern food. This course of dialogue lit her up. Fred abandoned the conversation and we moved closely to conspire privately. Any onlooker would have assumed from our animation that we were discussing the war in Iraq. By the end of the night, we were swapping recipes for greens (she slightly disapproved my method of adding cayenne and beer to the vinegar, but she gave me an excellent method of preserving them in the freezer in case one gets a hankering for them in the middle of winter). When she left at the end of the night, she gave me a warm embrace. I'm always glad to make a new friend.

P.S. On the long drive home in a rented Taurus with Jewels and the Glamazon, I was witness to their duet of The Fifth Dimension's "One Last Bell to Answer." I can honestly say, I never want to hear harmonies like that again.