~ Party Manners ~

My Captain and I were invited to a party last night at a farm not too distant from our little cottage.  In fact, the hosts of the party used to actually live in the little cottage before we did, and we enjoy them tremendously.  We never get to see them, and we really do want to see them, but apparently our ships cross in the night.  We never see each other.

There was no way we were going to miss this party.

But we almost did.   Varmint’s cheerleading squad’s football game got moved right smack dab in the middle of the party time.

So we did the unthinkable.  At the end of the football game, we drove our sweaty, rumpled, sunburned selves to the party at Mach 5, and arrived one minute before it was supposed to be ‘over.’

And the first thing I said when the host politely got up to welcome us?  It wasn’t “I’m so sorry we’re late!”  and it wasn’t “Please forgive our rudeness.”  Nope.  No siree.  I said quite clearly, “Tell me there is food left!”

There WAS food…DELICIOUS food, and the hosts, Chuck and Carole, were gracious as any hosts could be, considering the lateness of our arrival.  I made a bee-line for their home-smoked beans and proceeded to make a pig of myself.

You’d think all would end well if I could behave socially acceptably from that point.   You know, employ a napkin or something, for God’s sake.

Nope.

Let’s see, what other faux pas did I stumble into?  Um, I talked to Carole’s dad when Carole’s daughter was singing for everyone.  Well, truthfully I was listening and he was talking, so in all fairness I should be absolved of that.  Everyone was listening politely to the beautiful young lady with the sweet and clear voice, and there I was hotly debating whether or not drones would really ever be a threat on domestic soil.

Mind you, I have absolutely no idea if they would be or not, but you can be darn tootin’ sure I’ll argue the hell out of it.  That’s one thing you can always count on with me:  I may not be right, but I’m sure as hell SURE!

And then later I found myself discussing the benefits of European Bidets and the fact that the one in our master bathroom is like, totally my best friend in the whole wide world.  This wouldn’t have been so bad if the conversation hadn’t been with someone of a past generation who was not a little shocked and appalled at my candidness.  Oh, I should mention, too, that I did this in front of My Captain, who was looking everywhere but at me and my victim, er, I mean conversation partner.   Sometimes I think he hates me.  But then he remembers how charming I am when I’m silent…like when I’m sleeping.

Basically it’s not hard to understand why we don’t get invited to too many parties.

But I really DID like visiting our neighbors-that-we-never-get-to-see, and I really did enjoy the food and the conversation, and I really, really, really do truly love my bidet.

I mean, really.  As in ‘a lot.’

I guess I’m just a little rusty with the ol’ party manners.

If you need me, I’ll be busy writing my apologies…er, I mean my Thank You notes.

***sigh***

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