Another one from the archives…
And so it was, this past Saturday evening, that a situation developed.
My partner had plans to depart our domicile to meet up with a certain circle of friends that he has. Someone in said group was having a milestone birthday or had just given birth or had managed to locate the Ark of the Covenant, something that required a celebration of sorts. (To be fair, I knew exactly why he was joining this shindig, but I now choose to feign muddled confusion in order to gain sympathy from the jury, as I was not particularly impressed with a certain aspect of his decision to embark on this voyage.)
The issue? He had invited two of his siblings to spend the weekend at our house, and they were now in residence and fully expecting to be entertained in a lavish manner, which is the normal expectation guests should have at Bonnywood Manor. Upping the ante a bit more, Partner had also invited a mutual friend to drop by for the evening, despite the fact that he was going to be AWOL during a critical segment of the festivities.
“Don’t worry,” said Partner, as he stood in front of our bathroom mirror, spritzing himself with cologne and adjusting his hair follicles in an admirable and satisfying manner. “I’ll just make an appearance and then flee at the earliest opportunity.”
I knew this was a lie.
To be fair, part two, the folks with whom he would be meeting are a lovely bunch, intelligent and witty and wise, with guaranteed moments of hilarity and a joie de vivre that is rare. Which is exactly why I knew he would tarry a bit on his return flight. I couldn’t really blame him, but I already did, because that’s how relationships work.
I did not, left as I was to deal with the Siblings and the Mutual. To be fair, part three, I had a lovely time with the S & M, sitting on the back patio as we did, swilling fortifying beverages and discussing a wide range of topics from religion to hypocrisy to politics to reincarnation to the basic fact that we all want to do the right thing and be loved, but we sometimes aren’t quite sure how to get there. And we also barbecued and concocted side dishes and whipped up dips, prepping a delightful repast for the Four of Us Who Had Been Left Behind.
Post meal, a bit of naughtiness and slight revenge ensued.
Partner had been gone for hours at this point, as I had sagely predicted. Surely I must make a dramatic statement of some kind, even if it was pointless and did not have any impact on society whatsoever.
To be fair, part four, the Siblings did not participate, engaged as they were in a discussion about something that I didn’t really care about. The Mutual Friend? She was ON it, enthusiastically following my lead and providing artistic direction on the matter at hand.
We prepared a plate of leftovers for Partner, showing our love and support for his complete abandonment, proffering sustenance that would reenergize him after the long drive home from The People Who Were Apparently More Important Than Us.
And herewith is a snapshot of our devotion:
Surely the jury won’t convict me of smart-assedry. How could they?
Previously published, minimally revised. Since that prior post resulted in a considerable amount of discussion concerning just WHAT is on that plate, I shall shed some light. Starting in the upper right corner: This is pea salad, with two of the peas intent on freedom. Lower right, a thin slice of smoked sausage. (At least I think so. It’s been over two years, folks. A slice of smoked something.) Lower left, an ancient toothbrush part of a broccoli floret. Upper left, a smidge of the chocolate dessert we had, and not, as an alarming number of commenters thought, evidence of… recycling, let’s just say. I don’t know where some of the Bonnywood guests get their warped ideas.
Surely not from me, right? Surely not.
(And don’t call me Shirley. Unless you’re paying for the drinks. Then you can call me whatever you want.)