Baby’s Day Out                                                                                                                           

I live in the small town of Burien or as my husband likes to call it; Beer can.  It seems I only leave town when I go to an “out of town” restaurant or movie or by completely leaving the country. Suffice it to say that I am a homebody.

Craig and I used to regularly attend open houses and office type parties for attorneys, bankers, etc. when Craig was quite active in his real-estate development business.   However because Craig has divested of nearly all of his “business like” attire (preferring to shop in Hanes For Him) catalog  and I can only wear my Juicy sweat suit to a limited number of places we have stopped going to these events for lack of anything to wear and of course lack of invitations.  Surprisingly an invitation was recently issued to Craig and me.

Put on my best “spill proof” outfit and head downtown with Craig. We arrive early; I will be able to check out the food selection. This is of course why I came in the first place. The children are eating cereal at home.  Not a good idea to attend a party when famished.  One can have “wolf like” tendencies with ones food.

Craig introduces me to our attorney and I attempt to make a decent impression. I have checked earlier in the bathroom mirror for presence of the dreaded lipstick tooth or worse yet pepper teeth.  Find all is going well as we are not talking about business but about fishing and hiking.  Who can’t discuss this? A server approaches with a plate of appetizers, everyone demurs excepting me.  Bite into my appetizer only to discover that I have an avalanche of cracker crumbs down my chest.  Quickly brush them off and laugh gaily at something the attorney said.  Find my host staring at me oddly.  He passes Craig and me off to someone who has made the national rowing team about a million years ago. The rower finds himself very interesting and proceeds to tell us why.  Begin to grow faint with hunger. Excuse myself and meander over to the food.

All food looks fairly safe to eat as far as being dribble proof.  Sit down to eat while Craig chats up another partner.  Stand up to participate and drop large green olive on the floor.  It could happen to anyone!  Pick it up and deposit in the trashcan.  Begin to chew on some tasty fish only to find I have inadvertently sprayed my host with spittle and fish.  Begin shaking uncontrollably with hysteria while Craig apologizes for me and attempts to wipe spittle and food off floor.  Partner relays as to how carpets will be cleaned after party tomorrow.  Apparently they are used to food spillers such as myself.

Leave in utter humiliation but only after grabbing the door prize.  Craig will have to find someone else to represent us in our few and far between public appearances or as he said; “I may have to get a new dribble/spittle proof wife.”