Night Out

This is why I always try to remember to have a snack before we go to a community (or any) supper: maybe you’re supposed to eat “at 6,” but by the time the meal is actually served or your table is called to go up to the buffet, it’s 6:30 or later and you’re getting seriously peckish unless you’ve fuelled up before.

That was the case with us last night. There were 11 tables with about 20 people seated at each one, each table with a number. Our number was called second-last. Scott was already wishing we hadn’t gone at all, as suddenly he was feeling exhausted. If he hadn’t been determined to eat, we could have skipped the meal and come home. We finally got up there, me with two plates in my hand (one for Emil), and got our grub.

As we finished the meal, the Dixielanders began to play. I immediately perked up; they were fabulous. A bass guitar, a drum, a piano, a clarinet, two saxophones, a trumpet and a banjo — and as soon as they (the band volunteers to perform at this party every year, and they do the same for many other community functions) started to play, the dance floor filled up.

Alas, Scott needed to lie down, so we said our goodbyes and departed.

“Scott could have stayed home,” Emil said, “then you could have stayed longer.”

All these years of not wanting me there, and now he’s disappointed that I’m leaving so soon. People! What are they?

But leaving was okay with me, even though I loved the music. Best to get the boy home to bed. I got my beauty rest on the couch overnight, avoiding eight hours of close proximity to someone exuding cold and flu germs.

I regret leaving my camera at home, as people were having such a good time on the dance floor. But sometimes this gal just doesn’t want to carry anything at all. Even the trusty purse stayed behind.

plaids-r

I’m not a big fan of plaid, but these flannel pyjama pants and Mom’s housecoat are the snuggly-warmest nightwear ever.

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One thought on “Night Out

  1. Oh yes, those long waits to be called to go to the buffet table. Luck of the draw to be called one of the last ones. Same kind of luck I usually get at those kind of things.

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