"We should have a party," I said.
"Great idea!" said the guy who agrees with anything I say, even if it is
stupid.
This decided, we sat and stared blankly at each other for a while.
"Um," I ventured. "How do we have a party?"
"I think we have to, like, invite people. Then buy beer," he said.
"Sounds easy," I said. "Do we know anyone to invite?"
"Co-workers, maybe?" he suggested. "And aren't there at least a couple
of people who don't actively dislike us?"
"Yeah!" I said. "Let's do it to it." (It is to my boyfriend's credit
that he does not break up with me when I say things like, "Let's do it
to it." This is why he's the kind of person with whom I want to grow
old, or at least shack up with for a few years.)
The days passed. Our party was pretty soon. "How many people are
coming?" he asked.
"There's no telling," I said. "I can't tell if people are just saying
'yes' so I'll stop calling and threatening their pets."
"Should we do something to get ready? Like maybe clean up?" he asked.
I surveyed our house. It looked as if we sold crack, but were not doing
well enough financially to hire a crackhousekeeper.
"I'll call my mom," I said.
She came over and helped me clean. I think she did it because she loves
me, not just because she wanted some time to discuss when I'm finally
going to stop being a blight on the family name.
"This house is clean!" I told my boyfriend dramatically.
"Cool," he said. "Should we also maybe get something for guests to eat?"
I called a friend who is very social and has skills in such areas as
food.
"What should I make for my party?" I asked her.
"Well, meatballs are nice. And cheese trays are always good," she said.
"Do you need help? Want me to bring anything?"
I thought for a moment. "Well, if it's not too much trouble ... maybe
meatballs and some cheese trays?"
It looks like my party is shaping up to be a huge success. I hope to see
you there.
By the way, would you mind bringing beer?
Jessica hopes one day she will be merely a smudge on the family name.
E-mail her at jburgess@quickDFW.com.
