TEA'S COMPANY

I was invited to a tea party on Friday at the luxe Shangri-La Hotel in honour of pal, infatigable animal activist and fellow Litho (Lithuanian) Dana Baines Margolis’s birthday, hosted by swellegant luxury goods publicist Mary Symons. Also in attendance: Nolan Bryant, the Globe’s gadabout society scribe, a fixture at every party thrown by the one-percenters. There would be tea, finger sandwiches with crusts cut off and champers. I am so there.

What to bring to a tea party for the woman who has everything, including a house full of rescue animals?  Aside from spot cleaner for rugs? I opted for a vase and flowers from Teatro Verde, my gifting go-to. Here co-owner Michael Pellegrino is hard at work arranging the flora.

Dana Baines Margolis at the Shangri-La tea party partly obscured by an orchid. This is my obligatory token art shot.

This belt worn by our charming server at the Shangri-La reminds me of the highly coveted championship belt on one of my guilty pleasures, Lip Sync Battle.

A selfie taken in the ladies’ room at the Shangri-La after three glasses of champers. Cheers!!! Excuse the glazed expression.

This is my street-scene art shot at University and Queen while waiting for a streetcar. I am endlessly waiting for the Queen streetcar. It’s my Waiting for Godot. And when I finally board the streetcar, it is inevitably short-turned before I get home.

A bathing suit I am obsessed with at The Narwhal, one of my fave shopping venues. It is not only impossibly expensive – in the $400 neighbourhood – but who wants to try on a bathing suit in ghastly winter-white flesh, winter-weighty flesh and lack of bikini waxing? It is enough to scare the anchovies back into the water.