Raise your hand if you see yourself in either of these scenarios. #1: You open an envelope in the mail and say, “Wow! A party! This is great!” #2: You open the same envelope and think, “If I bury it under some magazines and act like I never got it, is that a sin?” You already know where you fall. Whereas someone might be in denial about whether they’re a cheapskate or a spendthrift, no one is hesitant about saying they either can’t wait to go or wild horses couldn’t drag them there. The third group in the mix are the people who attend because you’ve begged them to, but are ready to leave before you take your coat off. This group is often called husbands.
I’m at the party. Before the party I’m looking forward to the party and planning what to wear to the party and wondering who else will be at the party. Daughter takes after me except she’s usually throwing the party. When she tells me the staggering number of people she has squeezed into her studio apartment at one time I say, “Good grief, where did everyone sit?” To which she replies, “Sitting is highly overrated.” I guess space isn’t a priority when you wear the party gene.
For Husband the question is, “When does it end?” If I say it starts at nine and ends at twelve, his response is, “Right, but when can it end for ME?” Like at what point can he take off without appearing rude or acting sick. And in the end, he usually excuses himself politely saying he has to get up very early. For a while all my friends thought he was a farmer.
Often it seems obvious what type someone is. Years ago when my sister-in-law was going to her high school reunion, I invited her to stay over at our house since she graduated from a school in a town nearby. I asked her, “Would you like me to go to the reunion with you?” And she said, “How did you know your brother wasn’t coming?” WILD GUESS. So she and I went to the reunion together and had a great time, although we hardly saw each other until it was time to leave. She had lots of people to catch up with and I was busy chatting up strangers who kept telling me I hadn’t changed a bit.
Son resists classification. I’ve known him to show up with a smile or stay home just as gladly. The thing I take special joy in watching is the ease with which he converses with everyone once he’s there. As a child, his vocabulary consisted of the shortest possible words to convey his thoughts. When he’d answer our phone at home, his end of the conversation went, “Yup,” “Nope,” “Right,” and “Uh-huh.” Then he’d hand me the phone and say, “Grandpa.” After I said hello to my father, a lifelong salesman who died a few years ago, my dad would say, “Don’t let that kid go into sales. His family will starve.” The great thing is Son grew up to be an incredibly gifted and successful salesman. Grandpa would love that.
Daughter’s Foto reminds us It’s That Time Again
