Two days of my nine days off work have passed by already. All I did was blink.
Randy and I were eating lunch and I considered how nice it was to fix lunch and not worry about how many more seconds I could sit at my table before bolting out the door and going back to my cubicle. We had BBQ Friday night. I remembered this, because I put my arm in a blob of congealed sauce while complaining that my homemade potato salad is too bland.
My first thought: You can’t put this off anymore. The table cloth has to go in the washer.
My second thought: Why would anyone ever buy a white table cloth? I mean, the sauce looks bad on a red table cloth, but white?
We’re not good at having fancy things in my house. They don’t mean much to us and we’re just as likely to have a rubber cat on a shelf in our living room as a fancy vase of flowers.
That’s a lie. We are way more likely to have a rubber cat in the living room.
It’s possible there’s a rubber cat in my living room.
This is one reason why I don’t like attending dinner parties. It’s not that I don’t know how to act. I can be goddamn fancy. It’s that my fine motor control is that of a toddler and it’s possible that something will come out of my mouth that I think is hilarious that polite society might consider ‘inappropriate’ or ‘horrifying’.
Pretend dinner party hostess: Oh, Michelle…you MUST see my table cloth. It’s a special shade of white that is very nearly impossible. See how the gauzy layers and layers of white give the illusion of ocean waves with just a hint of shimmer? That’s because the material was woven by wood fairies before they became extinct 1500 years ago. It’s really a one of a kind piece. There is your seat there, by the delicate rosebud embroidery. Interesting story about that embroidery. It was embroidered in the 1880s in a village in France. A young blind woman who lived next door to Vincent Van Gogh did the work. She couldn’t see, but if he was painting, then she could embroider. Very little known story there. Now, can I get you some red wine? Or perhaps some 17 layer nacho dip?
Me: How about I just projectile spew bile from my stomach onto your table cloth and you can watch your priceless, one of a kind, hand made by mythical creatures family heirloom get digested right before your eyes? Seriously, it will be just like The Fly. You know, Seth Brundle? No? Okay, wine would be great.
Pretend dinner party host: I’ll get the special wine glasses out. Family lore is they were made specifically for Queen Victoria for her coronation. It’s a complete set as well. Amazing that nearly two centuries have passed and not a single one has ever been broken. Oh dear, this is odd. They appear to be trembling.
Me: Perhaps you have some little Dixie cups in your bathroom I could use instead?
Okay, that was just silly, that would never happen. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever been invited to a dinner party.
You know, as I sit here and continue to pretend my table cloth is not likely a science project by now, I’m thinking that I quite like the way we are. I don’t want to worry about water marks on my tables or stains on my couch.
On the other other hand, someone really needs to clean these bathrooms.
I know how to rock a stay at home vacation.