Christmas Party
A Dream, Really
After much discussion, my husband agreed that despite my worsening disability, we should have our holiday party. Caterers could be hired, and I could make my Tiramisu Cupcakes ahead of time (they really are much better than actual tiramisu-I kid you not!)
I invited a motley crew to this party, i.e., not just my husband’s work folk. Neighbors were invited, pretty much everyone I know was invited and I’m not kidding. I invited the 10+ different hair stylists I’ve tried in the almost 4 years we’ve lived here (that’s a whole other story), I invited the designer who worked on our bathroom redo, the contractor who oversaw our redo, my physical therapist, a very smart and kind person, my neurologist…
Really though, this party was a dream. A bad dream, aka a nightmare. This dream was so bad, that Lindsey Fucking Graham was there. I watched his head spin around, and it was too realistic. I’m talking just like in real life, like you’ve seen on TV, when you are AWAKE, depending on who he’s trying to impress that week. Even that vile Gym Jordan was there, which has to have been a mistake in wherever dreams are generated in the brain. At least my dreaming brain had enough sense to not invite Orange Jesus.
One of the party-goers (should that be party attendees, since it was at my house? I suppose it should, even though dreams, especially nightmares, always FEEL like they’re happening at home, but look and feel nothing like your actual house.), someone I didn’t know, overheard me talking about my father. He was astonished and asked how old my father was. I replied, “Are you suggesting that I am too old to have a living father?!” I’m laughing this whole time and I’m having a lot of fun with this poor guy. He realized his mistake and tried pitifully to backpedal but he had no chance. None at all. I would not let it go. About this time, I turned my head and who did I see? My DOCTOR!
…After I fell down laughing at dad insult guy, doc started to pick me up and I said no! Don’t do it! You are not big enough to pick me up! He asked what my husband did when I fell. Did he pick me up? Well, I said, after a fashion. He would approach me and then tell me to put my arms around his neck. That way he could drag me where he wanted me to be.
Then it was wake up time. Sadly, the partiers had eaten ALL the tiramisu cupcakes.