Today I managed to escape from work only 30 minutes late. Driving home in the sunshine with my new (prescription) sunglasses on, windows rolled down, and Dave Matthews in the CD player (5 days left!) put me in a very good humor.
After greeting Max lavishly, I hopped upstairs and tiptoed into the bedroom. Thor was sleeping, so I quietly began to change out of my “Junior Executive” costume into something more comfortable.
“BAM BAM” went the knocking on the door downstairs.
“ROWF!ROWF!ROWF!ROWF!ROWF!ROWF!ROWF!” went the small dog.
“Fwap!” went Thor’s eyelids as they flipped wide open. All he understood at that point is that there is a very loud commotion going on, and I’m standing in front of him in a black bra and a sheepish grin.
I grab the first shirt I can lay my hands upon (lightweight white knit), pull on my shorts and head downstairs. There’s a neighbor-woman at the door.
Here in Stepford, there is a ‘block party’ every July for our street and the cross street. It’s all that I’ve heard about from the neighbors since we moved in. “Don’t have time to introduce ourselves now…we’ll see you at the block party!”
The woman at the door (who probably wondered what kind of trash I was to wear a black bra beneath a white shirt) was the organizer for the block party. She introduced herself, pointed out her house, briefly mentioned her husband and 2 kids and launched the block party pitch. The party is Saturday, and were we coming?
Of course! She asks who else is in my household. After introducing her to Max, who was ROWFing in the bay window, I told her that I lived here with my husband, Thor.
“Any kids?” she asked.
“Nope,” I reply, immediately sensing the crushing aura of disappointment around her. At this point I feel like apologizing, but she whips out her clipboard and talked about what each person was bringing. Naturally, all the cheap/easy stuff was already claimed. Can’t wait to meet the neighbor who signed up for the bag of chips. Just so I can smack him.
All that was left was the ambiguous “fruit,” or the equally vague “cookies.”
Block party captain looks me in the eye and asks, “Do you bake cookies?”