Retying my tie for the twelfth time before heading downstairs, taking care to smooth it until it hung just so, centimeters above my belt line, I told myself I wasn't going to have red wine until the sun had set. Turns out I wouldn't remember this promise until I had drunk two glasses of the stuff and was feeling lighter with each step on the grass in the backyard.

The sun set beyond the canyon abutting the LA house turned fund-raiser location, and I no longer had to squint to see the growing number of people bouncing about the greenery, each one as effervescent as the champagne they quaffed. Nobody said it, but everyone knew: Michelle Obama was near.

Another glass of Cabernet and a few minutes of awkward conversation later, and I was inside the home, where Michelle was making her way down the stairs and into the foyer. She raised her hands to silence the applause and when she did I noticed her fingers, as long and slender as her, inherently elegant. People were very earnestly in awe; Earvin "Magic" Johnson showed a deference I'm sure many of his opponents would have killed to see years ago. "Thank you all for coming," she said.

When the time came to take photos with Mrs Obama, I exhaled quickly and approached with timidity, afraid I might spoil her somehow with quick movements or loud talking. I still can't remember if I said anything after leaning in and giving her a polite handshake and peck at the cheek. Three flashes and it was all over.

"Thank you," said a handler in a well-fitting skirt suit, her tone as leading as her hand on my shoulder, pointing me in the general direction away from the possible First Lady. "Thank you."

Later, Mrs Obama delivered a speech, a triumphant, warm, eloquent speech on The America We Can Have vs The America for Which We Settle. Everyone applauded powerfully and I switched from wine to water to better take it all in, the twinkling lights of the city and the whole rest of America at my back and far below.