In my desire to share with you the injustices of my landlord yesterday I neglected to tell you about my weekend. I will remedy that today so that no one (i.e. my mother) can claim dereliction of duty by NPW.
I suppose it all started on Friday evening, when I had agreed to participate in my school’s Bring the Family Night. Overall it was bearable, but only because I did not end up with a lemon meringue pie to the face. Otherwise it was filled with children giddy from being cut loose in their school building without any of the usual restrictions of decorum and high on cotton candy and blue raspberry slush. Plus, my Principal had volunteered me to run the Dance Dance Revolution room, where I had two TVs running two games at once. Because the kids have to take their shoes off to play the room quickly filled with noxious gym sock odors and blaring techno beats.
Chris was supposed to leave for Rochester on Friday evening but got stuck at work, so he decided to leave on Saturday morning instead. By the time I got home we were both ready for an evening of quiet television watching. On Saturday Chris left early and I packed up some stuff to head north, to spend the day with my adorable godson. We went shopping and every time my cousin rounded the corner with him in his stroller he would see me and shout “HI AUNTY NPW!” in his little midget yell. That probably happened about 15 times and it delighted me each and every one.
Saturday evening a bunch of ladies from the NPW family tree drove into the woods to a charity event held by my mother’s work. Luckily, it was held in a winery. Unluckily, wine plus a silent auction equals one broke NPW. But it was for a good cause! That might become my new mantra, like when I buy three new pairs of shoes in one outing. Fashion is a good cause, right? And also, I escaped the evening more cheaply than the rest of my family, who probably spent a combined total of… well, a lot of money. They walked away with Red Sox v. Yankees tickets, a flat-screen plasma TV, diamond earrings, and enough hair products to last a lifetime. Many appetizers and desserts later, I ended up with a bottle of wine and a collapsible salad bowl from Pampered Chef.
That night I stayed at my parent’s house in New Hampshire, despite the knowledge that my parents are prone to waking up in the middle of the night to start their day. It was still semi-dark outside when I heard my mother yell, “Garry! Quick! Get the gun! The squirrels are getting into the attic again!” And then the soft shot of a BB gun. I wish I were kidding. My mother may love animals, but she emphatically does not love squirrels nesting in her attic insulation and they apparently eat their way through the Have-A-Heart traps. They are tenacious little suckers. I blearily glanced at my phone and discovered it was not quite 5:30 a.m., and rolled back over in a vain attempt to get more sleep. By 7:00 I was up and ready for breakfast (damn you, internal clock!). So we went down the road to a place called The English Muffin. As we were ordering my dad commented on how he was recently informed of his high cholesterol and high blood pressure, then ordered the Irish Eggs Benedict. When it came it was a giant pile of hash, piled with english muffins, eggs, and Hollandaise sauce, with a side of holycrapmydadisgoingtobedeadwithintheyear.
Because we had not included my sister in the morning’s festivities she drove up to meet us for lunch. While waiting for her I vacuumed my car for the first time since buying it (in September, the shame) and washed it, while trying to avoid being eaten alive by May flies. When she finally showed up we grilled a delicious lunch and decided to drink the wine I had won the night before. The only corkscrew at my parent’s house was a throwback to 1972, the same style used in the Leprechaun movie to gouge out that one dude’s eye. So once that snapped off while in the cork we had some troubles. In the end we prevailed over that bottle of wine and drank it triumphantly with hamburgers.
And so we celebrated my mother, and then I went back to the city to have my dreams of dog ownership crushed by an unfeeling bald man. It’s times like that when I am extra glad I have my mother, so I can call her to cry and complain about my landlord and she can say, “Just have a baby then! That will show him.”