Tamie Platt is the co-owner of the ad agency that gainfully employs me.  In fact, she’s the one who hired me.  I interviewed not once, not twice, but thrice before I got the gig.   Only later did I find out that Tamie was the one who gave me the thumbs-up – much to everyone’s chagrin.  Both of my bosses wanted to pass on hiring me.  Tamie must have seen the sparkle in my eye – or liked the cut of my jib or something.  Thus, I got the job.  Wham!  Bam!  Thank you, Tam!

Somewhere along the way, Tamie went from boss to dear friend.  Don’t ask me how.  We have so many quirks and disconnects we could be two characters from a Woody Allen movie.   While she comes across as a tough-as-nails, savvy business pro, she’s quick with a kind word and even kinder heart.  She’s a living, breathing oxymoron.  Hard on the outside, soft on the inside … with a creamy nougat center of untapped creativity. 

Over the weekend, her husband Michael threw one helluva 50^th BDay party for Tamie in Manhattan.  He spared no expense.   I was on the short list of attendees … which, of course, made me feel more important than I really am.   The thing I love about Tamie is that she’s at her best when she’s surrounded by people who cherish and adore her.  She teetered somewhere between being verklempt and being giddy most of the evening.   And Tamie is NOT, repeat, NOT a giddy person.

She looked polished and pretty … like a living china doll.  She could easily pass for 40.  All eyes were on her from the minute she walked in the room.  And even though she won’t fess up to it, Tamie likes being the center of attention.  She may like it even more than me.  And she was definitely the belle of the ball.

The party started with an amazing spread at an upscale Italian eatery.  The wine flowed freely.  And the waiters all moved around in choreographed unison.   The entire group fit comfortably at a table that was carved for former President Gerald Ford.  Seems he wanted a solid wood table that would hold/seat 32 of his cabinet members.  Conveniently enough, the table was also cozy and intimate enough for 32 of Tamie’s closest relatives and friends to nosh and nosh and nosh.

After dinner, the evening went from tastefully demur to tastefully tasteless in no time flat.   The entire group went to a gay cabaret bar where the entire audience is encouraged to screech along with the piano man du jour.  I laughed.  I cried.  I belted out Billy Joel and Broadway for four hours straight.  It was a brilliant move on Michael’s part.  And unbeknownst to us, Michael had a surprise up his sleeve.  In the middle of the packed bar, MPlatt proceeded to sing two songs to his lovely wife that brought the house down.  Looks like I’ve got big shoes to fill in a couple years for my 40th BDay extravaganza!

So here’s to you, T!  Thanks for being a dear friend.  Thanks for hiring me.  And thanks for letting me be a part of the biggest wingding to hit the Big Apple since the ball drop in Times Square.  You’re gonna make it after all!