There's a reason I've forgotten about the whole thing already...
I'm over it. For all the good reasons, not the least of which is my best friend Janet who totally got the whole thing when I called her crying and she was supportive and funny and rightfully indignant. If I could wish one thing for my kids right now, it would be to have a best friend like her. Well, but that would be a wasted wish if they were injured in a go-kart accident and then forced to be homeless because they let their insurance lapse while they were trying to afford speech therapy for their children with cleft pallets. Then they'd need more than Janet. Sorry Janet.
But I also just realized why I forgot the whole incident so easily.
This evening we had a date night planned, which was to include a little tennis and a little dinner, but it was pouring. We stood on the deck in our tennis clothes, arms akimbo, trying to convince ourselves that it was just a drizzle, but when my teeth started to chatter and rain dripped off my nose into my cleavage, we finally gave up and went straight to dinner. At 4:00. Nothing was open on Sunday afternoon except the restaurant attached to the Doubletree. It was Jim and me and a few 90-year-olds celebrating their survival of another day. Jim and I spent the better part of the hour trying to remember the name of the girlfriend of a friend's son. And then I gave the waiter a credit card that had expired last year, and we brought home three enormous boxes of food. Jim is downstairs right now watching a PBS telethon, I'm peaking through the blinds watching the neighbors argue in their backyard, tomorrow our AARP cards come and I'll start washing and reusing Ziploc bags. Time to go take my pills...
But I also just realized why I forgot the whole incident so easily.
This evening we had a date night planned, which was to include a little tennis and a little dinner, but it was pouring. We stood on the deck in our tennis clothes, arms akimbo, trying to convince ourselves that it was just a drizzle, but when my teeth started to chatter and rain dripped off my nose into my cleavage, we finally gave up and went straight to dinner. At 4:00. Nothing was open on Sunday afternoon except the restaurant attached to the Doubletree. It was Jim and me and a few 90-year-olds celebrating their survival of another day. Jim and I spent the better part of the hour trying to remember the name of the girlfriend of a friend's son. And then I gave the waiter a credit card that had expired last year, and we brought home three enormous boxes of food. Jim is downstairs right now watching a PBS telethon, I'm peaking through the blinds watching the neighbors argue in their backyard, tomorrow our AARP cards come and I'll start washing and reusing Ziploc bags. Time to go take my pills...