I went to a party recently. A fancy one, filled with expensive people and interesting clothes.

You might find this surprising, as I expend hundreds of words a week in this publication bemoaning human interaction, but I love parties. I like free champagne, passed appetizers and forced, go-nowhere small talk.

Parties in Los Angeles are even better, because they usually involve at least one celebrity. In the case of this most recent event, the celebrity in question was a Real Housewife of Beverly Hills. Well … technically a “friend of”, Bravo reality TV parlance for a person who isn’t in the main cast and appears sporadically on the show thanks to a social connection to one of the actual Housewives. It’s sort of like being Newman on Seinfeld, or the vice-president of the United States. Easy work, if you can get it.

Of course, I had to inform my friends who are reality TV fans that an orbiting celestial body had entered my field of vision. But how to prove this encounter really happened? Could I truly get the reaction I wanted from them without photo evidence?

I began to ponder how to snap a picture without her noticing. Perhaps a reflection in a mirror? Pretending I was taking a photo of the canapes and whoops, I got you in the corner of the frame. I opted for the clever mirror trick and got the whoa text back from my friends, which means they were sufficiently gobsmacked by my brush with fame.

I was satisfied, but left with the lingering feeling that I was part of a persistent........

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