A few nights ago i went to an AIDS benefit organized by my best friend’s other best friend. My nemesis. Just kidding. I happily invited myself along, ponied up my 20bucks, put on a gown and some cowboy boots, and went head-on into somebody else’s community. The event is organized annually by a group that calls themselves the International Aid Organization (or something quite like that). They seem to be a collection of neighbors, friends and extended family- with a core of South East Asian women from Montreal’s South Shore- who get together to raise relatively small amounts of money and do the most good they can with it. They support the fight against AIDS in several countries as well as individuals surviving radiation from Chernobyl. You get the feeling that they’d like to help out everyone. The wide and bewildering range of causes supported felt like a shoulder shrug at the enormity of help needed, and an unbiased desire to pitch in wherever seemed best.

The whole night was fun. Seeing your friends, and their friends, dressed-up is always good, and seeing them dressed-up and dancing for a friend’s cause and shmoozing happily with her Mum and neighbors is sweetness itself. But the real highlight of the night was the entertainment. You know the sort: someone’s daughter who can play the violin blushes and works her bow for five minutes while the crowd smiles; someone speaks briefly and earnestly about the good work they do; and then a pack of middle aged ladies crowds the central dancefloor enthusiastically belly dancing. You mean that doesn’t happen at your parties?

Suddenly all the women in the room whipped out belly dancing scarves and rushed the floor to join their jiggly leader: a woman “all the way from Toronto” who shimmied and gestured with professional precision and a wide, giggly smile while the crowd, myself included, cheered and clapped and stamped in time.

That, plus eggsalad sandwiches and, ok I admit it, a flask in my purse for my totally broke self, equals best party ever.