Chapter the Twelfth, in which: I talk to Jack and no one is naked.
How delighted was I to see Jack’s ruddy, nervous face hovering in my kitchen? So delighted. At last, someone willing to discuss Elliott Smith’s albums with me at length without getting bored.
And it was nice to see the rest of you too.
That was the first party I’ve had since my eighth grade Halloween party. The Halloween party was a fiasco, due mainly to intense hostess paranoia. My parents were in the back of the house, no doubt just plotting the ways that they could leap out and embarrass me, and no one was allowed back there or outside. No one was allowed outside. I think to keep us from wandering off and finding alcohol just, you know, laying around on the street. People were intensely costumed — one girl came as a tub of popcorn, so I’m not the only one trying to live something down here — and boiling and unfashionable. Because, you know, eighth grade. Plus, after awhile my parents predictably enough got bored in the back and wandered out to the front. They caught one girl making out with some hapless lad in the study — my dad is still in shock.
Anyway, this one was better I thought. Mainly, getting to watch Ash romping around in the pool with whoever would join him was a delight. All week I’ve been going around saying “Is something wrong with Ash? He doesn’t have the puppyish enthusiasm that I remember him having.” Well last night he was not just a puppy, he was the whole damn cry. There is no joy like the joy of Ash and Dustin trying to drown each other. Sitting anywhere near them and a pool is like being in the front row at Sea World.
. . .
Okay, okay. I’ll tell you what I was for Halloween that year. I was the devil. With the vampy dress and the large plastic pitchfork. And the spiked heels. Oh, wait, I was still super height-conscious then. So did I wear heels? No. Did I, in fact, wear clumpy red slippers? The kind designed to look like plush red Smurf boots?
Yes I did.
Enjoy your day; see you at baseball if you don’t suck/live abroad/have a life.
. . .
And some addendums.
1. I actually got to use “sesquipedalian” the very same day of that entry. Coming back from lunch with Tracy, we encountered a herd of wee children on a field trip. “Hey,” said Tracy, “What”s with all the–”
“Sesquipedalians?” I said. Seriously? That made my day.
2. Magpies destroy other birds’ eggs and young and kill sickly, wounded, or newborn sheep and cows by pecking. A group of magpies is sometimes known as a cure.
*King of the road is a registered trademark of Maggie, who is cooler than I am.