The swan at the reception

An original literary non-fiction-style account of watching an ice ornament during an afternoon reception.

The invitation had promised a swan carved from ice. It had not promised how long the swan would remain interested in being a swan. When we entered the room, the neck rose in a confident curve above a silver tray. Beneath it, one transparent wing caught the light with the expensive seriousness of a chandelier.

My uncle stood beside it and asked where the water would go. This was considered a rather narrow response to the occasion. A woman wearing a large necklace explained that the artist had taken hours to make it. My uncle looked at the tray and said that he could believe it. Nobody was certain which part of the conversation he meant to answer.

During the speeches, the beak became less decisive. A drop formed beneath it, hesitated and fell. Soon another followed. The neck still held its curve, but a blunt little shine replaced the sharp point at its end. I found myself watching this slow revision more closely than the speaker, who was explaining that the project represented lasting achievement.

By the time the sandwiches arrived, the swan had acquired an expression of mild surprise. Two attendants carried away the tray before anyone could discuss its artistic development further. My uncle moved his empty glass out of their path. Later, when somebody asked whether the reception had been memorable, he said that he particularly admired the arrangements for removing the water. I remembered the swan perfectly, though not quite in the shape advertised.

How does the writer use language to create humour around the ice swan and the formal occasion?