No wonder I got stood up for a Progressive
Dinner tonight…it’s Friday, December 13, 2013. Shoulda saw it coming.
Got Mrs B in her new flannel pajamas, all
snuggly and warm after a shower, hemmed the pants (before helping her into
them) and set her up at the table with pot roast, sautéed onions, broccoli,
side salad and buttered toast. The oven was full-up with a pork lion, slab of
meatloaf, marinated chicken breast, pan of curly fries with seasoned tilapia
cooking in a frying pan on the stove, vegetables steaming and three eggs
getting hard-boiled. This is my life on Friday nights. We opened the mail, I
wrote five Christmas cards on her behalf, massaged and wrapped her bloated
legs, dripped eye drops, cleaned the bathrooms, kitchen floor, counter tops and
loaded up plates for the next four nights. In the back of my mind, I was
preparing for a fun night out with friends. They would be nibbling hors
d'oeuvres, moving onto the dinner spot, awaiting my phone call.
It was later than I expected before I got
out to my vehicle. My cell phone was acting up, spinning the numbers and not
connecting properly so I had to take out the battery and re-set it, while
shivering in the parking lot of Mrs. B’s apartment complex. I refer to the area
as The Ice Skating Rink since I pray, when
I walk through the exit door, that I don’t fall flat on my face, purse flying across
the slick concrete, contents spewing with embarrassment.
Pushed the CALL button for one friend, no response,
the next friend didn’t pick up so I chose to drive home versus drive around the
city, attempting to locate the party. Sigh. Very disappointed. Friday the 13th
struck.
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