The men are off to get masks. The women, the girlfriend of one of these men and I, are off to get dresses. Almost every weekend I go through the racks of enormous department stores like Saks, to decorate myself with at least ten hangers with swaying dresses for the day. The day I will be in white, the men in black bow ties in tuxedos, and the women in swaying dresses. That day is coming soon. Very soon. There are still nerves, but as I go through the racks with girlfriend B, there are mainly a lot of happy little jumps. It's really almost here, and I can't wait for it.

The men are now sitting in front of the fitting rooms. Coat off, phone in hand. And wondering how long this will take. They have succeeded and four masks are proudly displayed in a plastic bag on that bench in front of the changing rooms. Those masks are for tonight. The party in Brooklyn, a masquerade ball whose location is still unknown. Before we go masked, we have lunch as usual at La Pecora Bianca, also known as the goat bar in my old neighborhood. By the way, there’s nothing cheap about it, because the food here is still delicious and the restaurant always looks like it’s ready for a ring. The wine flows, and then it’s time to leave our old neighborhood and take a little beauty nap in the new one. So said, so done.

The alarm goes off. The guests are already on their way and everyone is showered and ready for the party. My soon-to-be husband is already busy in the kitchen and I look like a dried-up prune who clearly has been snoring with an open mouth. Like a madwoman, I hoist myself into the scaffolding. I'm half an hour late to my own dinner party. No, that's not good, but oh well, what does it matter. We eat, drink wine, the music gets louder and before we get into the taxi heading to the now familiar location of our masquerade ball, we wake the neighbors with 50 Cent. As usual, we’re laughing through the house and I feel 18 again. You know, secretly smoking and drinking when your parents are out for the evening...

The party is amazing. This can only happen in New York. Everyone, literally everyone, is masked. It looks top-notch. And the location is fantastic; it’s hidden in an alley in an old warehouse that is fully decorated with chandeliers, candles, and in some chandeliers, several women lounging around. Really, this can only happen in New York.

The day after the night before. I stay in bed because once again it turns out that I am really getting too old for these kinds of parties. Grandma can handle it, but has to recover afterwards. The men and girlfriend B are off. The sun is finally shining in Brooklyn and together with Blue they are going to explore our new hood. I stay in bed. When they come back, I jump in the shower, put on my biggest sunglasses, and head towards New Jersey with a bottle of water under my arm. It’s a bit of a drive, but then you can hang your legs out of a helicopter over New York. Yes, and that’s of course the only thing you want after such a night…..

Upon arrival, I feel the adrenaline pumping. I was looking forward to this ride, but actually, all that tension is doing me good. The fresh air and that heavy beating heart make that huge hangover disappear. After some safety videos, we step into the helicopter. A gift from us to our guests. And damn, it was cool again. FlyNYON is always a good idea.