Postprandial Hell

Bounteous Thanks to All!

Yesterday we geared up to venture out to our friends to partake of the feast. It was sooo typical in its launch that I felt the overpowering urge to sit on the steps and start cackling maniacally. I had one simple thing to prepare for a dinner out. I advised The Damn Goose that I needed woken up by a specific time in order to achieve this goal in a leisurely fashion with and little stress.

That so did not happen that I am still spitting nails about it.

Instead I am awoken one hour before we are supposed to leave to make and bake a pie that takes approximately one hour to prepare and 45 minutes to bake. Wasn’t happening, phone calls had to be made. I started to fly about the kitchen like a madwoman. That means don’t ask me for anything– period. I could care less that you haven’t eaten for two days and can feel your stomach acids burning their way thru to your spine. Not my problem. Pull up your big boy panties and slap together a pb and j sandwich, some coffee and potato chips; and GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN before I take this razor-sharp 9″ kitchen knife to you! I had to make pie crust twice because I had some stupid Goose who failed to display the common sence necessary to not step foot in my domain. Said goose is now missing tail feathers, walks with a limp and asks permission to walk past the kitchen entryway. It is what it is.

We finally get to the party feast [an hour late] and find that the hostess is running behind herself. Been there, done that, got several past crowns! I don’t feel nearly so bad about running behind though since it turns out that everyone else is but I still can’t shake that mild bit of lingering annoyance. It niggles at my buttons and gnaws at my consideration of right and wrong, It’s just bad manners to show up late…same bad manners are involved when you use the last of the toilet paper in a stranger’s house then tell no one so the next person has to go on a mad search for a roll. I firmly believe that pets and small children should be secluded away. I enjoy both immensely but friendly get together and parties are not the places that either belong at. My friends look as me askance considering I have some of the friendliest animals on the planet and some of my friends visit just so they can cuddle with my cat and dog  I just don’t want to risk someone falling and breaking an appendage or limb; something which has already happened to me more than once. My cat thinks it’s enourmously phony to weave in and out of your legs while you walk up the stairs. FWIW, My home is tiled throughout vs carpeted. While it is easier to clean that way, it also hurts like a bitch when you fall.

Food excelled beyond my expectations. Everyone brought their A Game which was quite nice as was the conversation that followed the feast.  Always nice to be surrounded by friends who aren’t bitching nonstop about something. Of course, the time came to bid our fair friends adieu and head off into the night, Bad juju there. I guess I blundered on the great webbed  feet of The Damn Goose at some point and those dear friends of mine forgot to mention it. Of course my guess is really they were about as clueless about it as I was. Apparently I failed to squawk back an answer to a question fast enough or fill his glass. Haunk! Haunk! Haunk! All the way home. I was ready to pluck him and stuff me a new pillow.

Stumbling in the house I square my shoulders, cracked my neck and did no more than walk away. No fighting was coming down this pipe tonight.just wasn’t gonna happen. You could see The Damn Goose’s chest deflate and his feathers quiver in disappointment. Right, like he would ever engage me in anything confrontational!

Now I wanna laugh! I’m the most confrontational person I know. I have no problems asking those questions that embarrass most people to bits:  Excuse me, my friend would love to go out with you. She thinks you have the kinda ass a girl could really sink her teeth into. She alsowants to know if you have a job and can afford to take her out on a real date. Walking on the beach and looking at the stars is nice but she would like to eat and maybe go to the movies or dancing too. Thanks, she’ll be thrilled! Oh, btw, whats your name?  

The Damn Goose sure gets a burr up his ass when I do this. Zingers he calls them. I threw a couple of these last night too and didn’t realize it. I think my friends and I are going to be eating cooked Goose for Christmas instead of hitting our favorite watering hole and prowling for our favorite Holiday Toys.

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