Spent the entire day getting ready for Kris’ big party! I don’t really know why there’s an exclamation point there (or why I just acted like I’m not the one who put it there). Let’s recap the earlier portion of the day. It was 400 degrees Kelvin at 8AM. And I was just wondering when Texas August was going to get here…
During the morning hours, Kris was kind enough to take our daughter out to get their nails
did done. That freed my wife and me up to do some final prep work. Our son? He was here with us but he was happy watching a movie in the other room. Oh, and our electrician was also here. His job was to begin the task of climbing up into our attic to install the recessed lights for the kitchen. Go back up to the first paragraph and read about the temperature. Yeah… There came a point during the day where I honestly believed that our lighting guy was going to die in my attic. He kept coming down every few minutes to get water and change his shirt. In the end, though, he survived. This is good because I really did not want the prospect of having to carry a 250 lb. man down those tiny fold-up steps (or of having to call his wife). I ran out to several stores, the liquor store being just one. On my way into that store my mom called. Since she’s Mom and I haven’t heard from her in a while, I answered. This so distracted me that I went into the store and purchased all the hard liquor but forgot the beer. Oh, our theme for the party was a Mexican fiesta. Hard to fiesta without Corona, I suppose.
Errands complete, my wife, son, and I headed to pick up four dozen balloons and the babysitter. We hired a young lady whom we know to come with us to the party to keep the kids entertained. Boy was she surprised having to squeeze into the rockin’ Town and Country with boxes of party stuff, booze to knock out a small army, and 48 helium balloons. But she actually jumped into party-planning mode when we arrived at Kris’ rockin’ apartment complex. You see, she lives in a very swank building where we had rented out the party room for the evening. There’s a pool, a game room, a full kitchen… It was a great set-up. The number of guests who arrived and thought this was her actual apartment was plentiful.
OK, so, the party proper… What can I recount of this evening? Well, not a whole lot owing to confidentiality agreements and the ever-present threat that there might be a picture or two of me that I don’t want posted. I can tell you that our friends all arrived and everyone had a good time. Most especially, my mother-in-law Wilma had a great time. I had offered her one of my famous margaritas early in the evening as we were setting up. I had not been the one to offer her the second through sixth. But boy is she a fun time when she’s had a few. She took a spot at the table, almost like she was holding court in the kitchen, and managed to attract all of the guests to herself at one point or another. One by one they’d pass by on their way to get more food or throw out their trash and gravitate toward Wilma. Each guest, in fact, was spotted with the grande dame at one time or another, pouring out their problems as though they were conversing with the world’s greatest bartender. Little did I know the real reason. By the end of the night, I too sat down next to Wilma. “What’s been going on, lady?” I said. Slowly but deliberately came her response. “Were those things pure tequila?! Honey, I’m so drunk I can’t move from this chair!” And I thought she was just dispensing advice. Well, she was doing that too. Case in point, my wife went to offer the kids a Capri Sun juice box. From her mother came “Now… I heard that children shouldn’t drink those or anything else unless you can see through it.” You stay right there, Wilma. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.
The best moments of the night, though, belonged to the party girl herself. Instead of a cake, my wife had slaved away for hours (and I do mean hours, Kris) baking cupcakes and turning them into high heeled shoes. Truly, this was a masterpiece. It was so awesome that several of the other younger folks who live in Kris’ building had caught a glimpse of them through the plate glass window on their way to the pool. Round about the time I was getting ready to drive my mother-in-law home, I heard a knock on the door to the community room where we were cleaning up. I opened it and in bounded two young ladies who looked like they had been at another party. “Erhmagawd! Did you make those shoe cake things?!” Before I could answer, Kris invited them to come on in and join the fun. Over the next few minutes, they all discussed how much they loved each other and how “fun” the shoe cakes were. I’m so glad, because I was starting to think they had an edge of melancholia to them. They discussed that the one girl’s name was Amanda Nicole and how awesome that was. Trying to breath some sense into this coven of drunk bimbos I almost said “Half the girls born in 1977 are named Amanda Nicole or some variant thereof.” But I never got those words out. No, they were on to discussing how “Mandy’s” boyfriend Chris is the dude Kris sees at the pool all the time. “OMG [she actually said O-M-G, not Oh my God], you’re dating the really hot one who’s always at the pool in his, um, his, uh, what’s it called? Yeah, his Mr. America shorts?!” I had to ask for an explanation. “His what now?” His girlfriend chimed in that he wears a bathing suit that looks not unlike he’s wrapped his lower regions in Old Glory. “He’s SUPER patriotical!” she said. “I’ll bet,” I shot back, not really caring. Mandy and her friend actually must have even started boring Kris at this point because she actually placed cupcakes in their hands and told them “OK, it’s been fun.” That’s the universal code for “get the hell out, drunkies”.
And believe it or not, the partying had just begun…