Last night I bumped into Paris Hilton.

I was out and about on the town. At one point Paris, in all her high-heeled, blond, and sparkling-pink splendor, passed us on the road. A bracelet she had been wearing – a black beaded cuff with pink sequin flowers and diamond-studded centers – came to be in the possession of Melissa, my trusty partner in crime here, by some method I know not of -- though it felt as though in a drunken fit of giddiness beautiful Paris must have thrown it off to some lucky passerby.

I took it from Melissa and was contemplating keeping it or selling it – I looked down at it as if I had found Bilbo's ring. But Melissa (that white-winged angel on my shoulder) made me understand that I should return it. So I followed Paris into the party she had just disappeared into, and I told the door-girl that I needed to see her.

The cute-blond-number of a door girl reacted with disdain. I wasn’t on the guest list.

“Alexis!” I said (which in real life is my younger sister’s name), “Look, it’s me, Vanessa!” and here I pulled back my bangs to show her my face. “We partied together at Sundance with Paris!” I squealed (which in real life is somewhat true).

Alexis was not impressed. She wouldn’t give me the time of day, even though I too am a hot little number.

At this point Paris passed by. I lost my shit.

I started in on a tirade: Do you know how fucking ridiculous it is that you own a bracelet that costs $20,000 dollars? Do you know where I’ve just come from? I’ve been in Sierra Leone, ranked 177 out of 177 on the UN’s human development index! Do you know how many families you could feed for how many years with this one goddamn bracelet that you’ve cast off and now I’m here to return it instead of selling it and I can’t even be let into the fucking party?!

I was in a rage.

“I’m going to sell it on e-bay,” I finally told her. “And with the money I make I will start a sustainable micro-lending program in Freetown, and I will save people. I will help them.”

Paris thought for a second and then unexpectedly smiled. She wanted in on the plan. She would help publicize the event. Paris Hilton was going to raise money for Sierra Leone.

The party was a huge success, though I don’t remember most of it. I do remember Paris in a skin-tight get-up sunk low into a leather chaise lounge of her private jet at one point, too drunk to keep a hold of the cigarette dangerously dangling close to the engines below.

As for me, I was going to use the money we raised to return to Sierra Leone. I was going to dole out the money to Mr.Douda, my old driver here who is easily also my best Sierra Leonean friend. He was going to use the cash to become successful. Once he had secured his daughters back from Liberia and felt comfortable, he was going to pass it on to the next person in need.