No, I’m not “back”. Just had sort of a good day.
Good days always have something to do with friends, right? Met up with Dave and Meg at my kids’ “old” school they attended from grades 5-12. It was the holiday concert, which I’ve loved and attended for 14 years now I think. And there was my Mr. Max, with all his Russian ethnicity pouring out that I love. You keep laughing, Chris and Andrea, I’m hiring him to play at your weddings, if/when that ever happens. (Chris, remember, you are not allowed to spawn.)
Soon after I gave a few hugs to some parents and teachers I haven’t seen in a while, I settled in next to Dave. A tap on my shoulder from behind brought my attention from the program to the mop-headed 5th grader behind me. “Could you move over because I can’t see, Big Head/Elaine?”
Actually, Dave said he didn’t say that last part, “Big Head” or “Elaine.” But I swear I heard it (for you Seinfeld fans). Thank goodness there were no pigeons flying loose in the room.
I replied, “Oh, I’m so sorry, are you telling me I have a big head?”
He said, “Maybe.”
As far as this adorable kid being disrespectful, he really wasn’t. I needed his little grin he had on his face. He was bantering with me. So I just went with it, stuck my tongue out at him and said, “FINE.” I moved over a seat, now sitting alone, not next to anyone.
Every now and then, I turned back to mop-head boy and asked if he could see OK, to which he always replied, “yup”.
Then it came time for him to go up for his performance with the middle school group to sing. I mocked him a bit (boys rarely like chorus), and he complained that he was even in the front row. I told him I’d be watching him. And so I did. I caught my new-found friend’s eye from afar, waved at him, and got the cutest smile out of him during his singing that made my day. Never got his name. But loved him for warming my heart for the first time in two months or so.
It was downhill after that, unfortunately. I went to pick up my leather purse from the shoe repair and proudly slapped down my repair ticket on the counter (I rarely still have any ticket for pickup when required). The woman behind the counter said, “that’s not our ticket stub, this is a parking stub for Pearl Street in the city.”
Need a drink. Still riding this wave.
Still Riding (as Anne says),
Someone please come help me pick up my house, put away my dry cleaning, do my overflowing laundry, vacuum the rug where I wrapped, pick up my catering, buy me more vodka (for our very little parteeee tomorrow, go through my week’s worth of mail, read my three weeks of beloved magazines, fix my incorrect insurance bills and get four hours of sleep a night for me? It would help a little. If you were my real friends, you would, you know. How did I get so far behind? I used to be called “Patty Perfect”. I’m out of control!! But I did talk to the Libsters tonight. That was nice.