I have been away from my blog for a few
days due to the Hallowe'en holiday, a travesty of a tea party and a
faulty immune system. The end of October crashed in a spectacular
show of dismay and misery the likes of which haven't been seen since
the volcano exploded over Pompeii covering the earth with poison air,
ash and death.
Hallowe'en promised to be a good night.
For the first time in many years I had no party to attend, was not
dressing up and had no small children to tote around hitting the
neighbors up for sweets. I know to some of you, the idea of not
having a party to attend sounds like a complete social failure, but I
have a son who's birthday is October 29th. As a result I
usually have a Hallowe'en party to go to, clean up after and costumes
to deal with all while planning a birthday party that must top last
year's birthday party and arranging everyone's schedule around
haunted houses, social gatherings, parties and plans. It can be a
bit overwhelming. This year however, my daughter and I had a huge
bowl full of good chocolate candy bars and Golden Girls on DVD. We
put a blanket over us and settled in for a relaxing evening of snappy
one-liners and sweaters with shoulder pads.
Then Friday came and it was time to do
the shopping for this year's birthday party. My son has recently
become enamored of all things British. Dr. Who and Sherlock are his
two favorite shows on “the tele” and he faults his father on a
daily basis for having made him with a woman who is Korean rather
than a woman who is British. He eats special British “biscuits”
called Jaffa Cakes and spends most of his morning trying desperately
to make his hair look exactly like Matt Smith's hair. Needless to
say, once this kid gets hooked on an idea, he immerses himself in it
to the point of losing his own identity. So, to amuse him, I went to
the world food market and bought $90 worth of weird British finger
foods including blood sausage, Royal (something) biscuits, ginger
crisps, and the particular chocolate truffles recommended to me by a
fellow blogger – they were made of these shaved bits of chocolate,
like a big bundle of chipped chocolate – and English tea that you
make with the loose leaves and crème and everything I could think of
to make a birthday tea a smashing success. Fortunately I adore
nineteenth century British literature and have read a billion novels
wherein people have tea and the meal is described. I actually
probably served him a relic of bygone tea instead of a modern tea,
but I'm American and generally have no idea what I'm doing, so give
me a break. The glitch came in when he showed up to the table
dressed in a black hoodie pulled down over his eyes, his dark grey
wool coat buttoned up and his black hair combed down over the top
half of his head. He slumped down in the seat and glared at his cell
phone which he refused to put down. He was offered biscotti and
marzipan and sparkling lemonade in a fancy bottle and anything I
could think of and he wouldn't even look up. He either glared at the
opposite wall or at his phone in his lap. I have attended more
cheerful funerals. I have attended funerals where the corpse was in
a better mood than the birthday boy. I even had a 3-D cake made in
the shape of the Tardis. He didn't care. After the other four of us
small talked our way through a tea thrown for someone else, we all
got up and dispersed around the house. I lay down for a nap due to a
slight headache which I assumed had been brought on by the strain of
not killing my own child then bringing him back to life just so I
could have the fun of killing him all over again and burying his body
parts throughout the county. I needed to be well rested as I was due
to go to The Rocky Horror Picture Show that evening with my friend.
I woke up at the appointed time ready
to don my Magenta maid's costume and flare my ridiculously curly,
frizzy hair out exactly the way it wants to be everyday anyway and
put on my best gaudy make up. However when I woke up I realized that
my headache had not gotten better, but in fact had gotten much worse.
I called my friend, who was in her bathroom at the time, I am
assuming getting ready and said something really very lame like “are
you still planning on going tonight? Like do you still have plans to
go?” Well, of course she had plans. That was
the plan. Go to Rocky Horror Picture and throw things at the stage,
see naked adult audience members run around and squirt water guns at
people. I think I was somehow hoping she would be the one to wimp
out of the plans at the last minute so that I, being the generous
person that I am, could lovingly forgive her and tell her we'd do it
another time. However, being the perceptive person she is, she said
“do you need to cancel tonight?” Well, yeah, actually I did.
Because the more awake I became, the more aware I became that I
didn't simply have a headache. My throat was exceedingly sore and
felt swollen and I was shivering even though I was lying under a
sheet, my warm-fuzzy, a quilt and a down comforter. My skin was hot
and achy. Oh crap! I was sick! I had not planned on that! Yes, in
fact, I had a fever. Well that was just peachy. The last thing I
remember thinking was that while I had been running late to pick up
the special cake for the dismal day I had thrown on a sweater I had
been holding on to to take back to the store because I bought it too
big. Now then I couldn't take my sweater back because I had worn it
to pick up a cake that got thrown away on a birthday that was a
disaster just before an outing with a friend that didn't happen to a
show I didn't get to see on a day that I got sick.
For
the next several days I was an unwashed sickly lump in the wadded up
covers of my bed; my only signs of life were occasional fits of
violent shivering.
It
turned out the moody teenager was highly upset over something that
validly cracked his world. I did explain that he needed to say “Hey,
I'm not up for this because such and such happened” or he needed to
put on a fake smile and be grateful and pretend the world was okay.
His adamant refusal to participate in life or talk to anyone or do
anything but hurt the four people who loved him more than anything in
the world with no explanation was not acceptable behavior. He
understood and now I understand him... but this holiday would have
been much improved if vampires, werewolves and zombies actually
existed and had even decided to invade my town. I would have never
put that sweater on to hunt monsters and now I'd be able to return
it.
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