Que Sera Sera

How was your day?

I am incredibly sleep-deprived at the moment, and plan on tumbling onto the hardwood floor the minute I’m finished posting this, waking up in my own drool several hours later, oblivious to all current events.

Last night I went straight from work to dinner and a performance of Blast downtown at the Performing Arts Center with some family friends. Right after the lights went down and the place got quiet, their ten year old son nudged me and whispered, conversationally, “Hey, have you ever crapped your pants?”

I struggled to maintain my composure for the rest of the show, which despite being described to me as “like a marching band, no, more like a Super Bowl halftime show, but like a Broadway show, too” was very entertaining. I got in bed at midnight and slept like Sigourney Weaver when she’s all drugged and possessed in Ghostbusters until my alarm went off at 5:30.

That’s right: 5:30.

Evidently I’m lobbying hard for the title of Best Friend of the Year, so I woke up at that ungodly hour on a Saturday to drive to Tahlequah for Laura’s graduation, where I was rewarded for my sacrifice by having two small children kick me in the back the entire two and a half hours, much to their mother’s complete—how do you say? Ah, yes: complete not fucking paying one bit of attention to your two small children under five. I had little dusty footprints all up and down the back of my black dress because I was trying to be a Nice Lady this time.

Afterwards, Laura’s grandfather took us all out to lunch at a place called Restaurant of the Cherokees, where I enjoyed the Fried Chicken, Salad Bar, and Carrot Cake of the Cherokees before freshening up in the Ladies Room of the Cherokees. No one was interested in purchasing a commemorative shot glass at the Gift Shop of the Cherokees next door, probably because everyone else tired of my of my many Of the Cherokees jokes long before I did, as is usually the case.

After the meal, as we stood in the parking lot talking, Laura’s grandmother admired the azaelas blooming in the Garden of the Cherokees (see? I just can’t stop myself), causing Laura’s grandfather to remark, “Peg, I’d steal some for you, but I might end up with an arrow in my back.” Then he launched into some story about Belfast and ended with a Woody Allen quote. He turns 78 this year and has brand new teeth.

When I got home, I called my mother and asked her what she wanted to do for Mother’s Day, and she said, “I don’t know… I was thinking it might be fun if we all went to the arcade and played some air hockey.”

I’ve got to go sleep all this off now.

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