The Home: You-Rent-lt

It is just past midnight. The 300 guests have emerged from the gaily trimmed dining tents, and are now doing the cha cha cha on the wooden dance floor that covers part of the lawn. A champagne fountain burbles into the hollow-stem crystalware. The hostess snuggles her mink stole over her airy Howard Greer original. The host pats his cummerbund and stares expansively at his Thunderbird convertible in the drive. Then he surveys the whole scene and realizes that he is not the master of a blessed thing he surveys. The tents, the...

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