Kathleen is having a party tonight. It is ostensibly a "hole digging" party. She has fruit and nut trees she needed to plant and hasn't had the energy so instead of digging the holes herself, she planned a party, mowed a pasture and a yard, cleaned her house, had the carpets professionally cleaned, had some plumbing and electrical problems fixed and made an entire dinner so that people would come over to dig a few holes.
Uh-huh. Sure, Kathleen.
The girl loves to have parties. What can I say?
I promised her I would come.
But then, after two days of a whole lot of activity and a sunburn and all my blah, blah, blah stuff, I begged out of coming.
And then the phone rings. It's the party calling. They want me to BE THERE. All the Sex Please folks and the Wheel of Murder folks and they're offering me bribes and rides and I don't know what all to just come to the party.
And I say, Oh no. I can't put on a bra. I am sunburned. I am exhausted. I say, The health department is going to shut down my left arm pit any second now. I say, I've never felt more loved. I say, Just say FUCK a few times and then say something ugly about religion. Every one will think I'm there.
And I wish I were there but I am equally glad I'm here too. The rain is starting to come down again and I've walked my yard and collected eggs and some tomatoes. I've fed the chickens some left-over cornbread. I've put some hydrangea in a vase and a few marigolds in another. My man is watching a baseball game on TV. I think I'll make some gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches out of local, handmade cheese that Billy got me at the New Leaf Market where he works that I have been wanting to try but which costs the big $$$, and those sweet, ripe tomatoes from the garden.
No. I'm right where I belong and just knowing that people are missing me across the county, that they would call and say WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? makes me feel like...well, like I'm one of the popular kids in high school. Seriously.
Wow. Fifty-five years old and I finally feel like one of the popular kids.
Okay. I can die now. Happy.
But I hope I don't. I really want to taste that cheese.
You sound good. I'm so happy that you're feeling popular... The truth is you always have been.
ReplyDeleteTalk soon,
pf
I am a homebody at heart too --so I get it.
ReplyDeleteI get it too--I was never much of a partier and I would still rather stay home. Still it's nice to be missed!
ReplyDeleteWell those people who miss you tonight, know what the rest of us in the world feel like. You are such a dear soul.
ReplyDeleteWell, I know how they feel. I'd want you at my party, too.
ReplyDeleteA few friends came and got me lat night and we went out. It was supposed to be a crazy drunk night, but after the awesome boat day I was beat, so it turned into a pitcher and some good conversation and home again by midnight. Which was exactly what I needed. Sometimes, knowing that your company is looked for but managing to stay comfortable is better than the party.
ReplyDelete(WV: druncar - I am not a druncard!)
Ms. Fleur- Ha! I love you honey. Travel safe.
ReplyDeleteSJ- The time had come to REST.
Lois- It felt WEIRD. But great.
Angie M- Yep. Life of the party. That's me.
Elizabeth- Until I had two drinks and opened my mouth...
DTG- So- you were beat, too. I couldn't even get it together to get in a car. No way. No how. Wasn't it a great day?
And no, you are not a druncard!
There are just those days where I don't want to go anywhere. But for most of my life I have suited up and showed up day after day. It's hard for me to get out of the harness but I am trying.
ReplyDeleteaw, sweet. You are the popular girl.
ReplyDeleteI love Kathleen.
Oh, I said that already.
I would dig a hole for her.