EPISODE 13 — The Gala Catastrophe

There are many poor choices Cosmo Farfetch has made, but attending Tiffany Montefiore’s annual charity gala uninvited — and dressed for the MET — might be his most dazzling one yet. Everyone in his social orbit received an invitation. Cosmo did not. Which meant, naturally, that he was absolutely going.

He dragged Nanna Farfetch with him, because if one is gate-crashing, one may as well bring a woman who believes “trespassing” is simply entering a room with confidence.

Cosmo arrived as a cosmic chandelier — shimmering shards, glimmering prisms, and a cape that threatened the structural integrity of the doorway. Nanna sparkled beside him in a gold catsuit, LED halo glowing like divine mischief.

Guests gasped. Children hid. Someone muttered, “Dear God.” They had expected cocktail attire. Cosmo and Nanna instead delivered celestial insanity.

Tiffany’s gala supported her favourite obscure charity: The Society for the Ethical Rehabilitation of Anxious Ground Parrots — a deeply suspicious organisation whose parrots were, notably, absent.

But Tiffany didn’t care about parrots. She cared about drama. And she had saved her greatest performance for the moment Cosmo arrived. She knew he would turn up eventually. The man couldn't resist gate-crashing.

You see, Tiffany had planned a moment. A devastating, elegant, carefully arranged moment. While he was off doing the com-con circuit, she was planning her most fiendish ploy.

Tiffany took to the stage, tapped her champagne flute, and with the tragic dignity of a widow moving forward (which she was absolutely performing), she introduced Julian Farnsworth to the audience. The very same Julian that had shared Cosmo's bed, bath, and at one point, even the kitchen counter.

Julian stepped forward. Tall. Sculpted. Smug. Why wouldn't he, when the woman caressing his arm was worth more than his vintage swap card collection. Mint condition. Very, very old. Worth quite a bit, says the chap from Antiques Roadshow.

Cosmo gasped. Nanna Flo belched. Tiffany glowed like a vengeful chandelier. When Julian dropped to one knee and proposed. Everyone seemed to cheer. There were even tears from some of the guests.

Nanna Flo was having none of this crap. She reached into her bra — a place feared by many, respected by all — and triumphantly pulled out Julian’s lacy knickers with his name embroidered on the back, the one he’d left at Cosmo’s last Thursday night during an evening that tested the limits of human flexibility. So she had heard.

The 93rd-year-old was only returning them to their rightful owner when she hurled the knickers at Tiffany and Julian with Olympic precision. It slapped Julian in the face before sliding down his suit like shame in fabric form.

The guests gasped. Vol-au-vents were dropped. Tiffany shrieked. Julian turned grey. He had failed to tell Tiffany that they weren't exclusive.

Cosmo stumbled backward with that unfortunate blend of panic and theatricality only he could achieve. His chandelier cape swung out like a rogue satellite, clipping a passing waiter whose tray of champagne flutes sailed upward in a sparkling burst of liquid regret.

The waiter spun, flailed, and crashed directly into Tiffany’s Silent Auction Showcase — a display she claimed featured “heritage artefacts, artisan curios, and limited-edition objets d’art.”

Under Tiffany’s warm, golden lighting and velvet-draped backdrop, the items looked luxurious. Exotic.
Exclusive. But the moment the curtain tore loose and the overhead lights flickered back to their natural hospital-grade fluorescence, the truth became painfully clear:

They were cheap knick-knacks. All of them.

A fake jade paperweight.
A ceramic cat missing one ear.
A “crystal decanter” made of tinted plastic.
A gaudy gold lamp shaped like a mermaid that had definitely been purchased from a clearance bin.
And in pride of place: a “genuine antique” mask still bearing a $12.99 sticker from Bargain Bazaar.

The room gasped in horror. Then the domino effect began.

A plastic “porcelain” figurine rolled under Nanna’s mobility scooter just as she reversed with gusto. The scooter jerked violently, sending her spinning backward into the auction table with the force of a decorative missile.

The entire collection of faux treasures went airborne. The plastic decanter bounced off a waiter’s head.
The mermaid lamp crashed into the dessert table. Three fake jade trinkets skittered across the floor like panicked beetles. One “antique” snow globe shattered, releasing water and glitter that instantly transformed the floor into a dangerous, shimmering slip-and-slide.

The DJ stepped onto it and—Down he went. Straight into the chocolate fountain, tipping it like a wounded beast. Chocolate cascaded across the dance floor, sweeping several guests into a heap that resembled a human fondue.

Nanna shrieked, not out of fear but triumph, as the scooter fishtailed dramatically before colliding with the spotlight stand. The light toppled over, striking the velvet backdrop, which collapsed entirely—revealing shabby drywall that started to smoulder.

Then the sprinklers activated, raining down upon the glitter, chocolate, and shame in equal measure. And at the glittering centre of the meltdown stood Cosmo Farfetch — drenched, shining, bewildered, utterly magnificent in the way only a chaos-born star could be. And Nanna Flo guzzling from a champagne bottle, hocking her horn while her scooter disappeared into the night.

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