I don’t place a lot of rules on myself when in public. I do, however, have a philosophy about spaghetti: it is best not eaten in public. Thus, no matter where I’m publicly dining, I rarely, if ever, order the long, thin pasta.
Q and I were eating lunch and I had ordered a baked potato soup. For whatever reason, I wasn’t provided any napkins, but figured I could eat soup without needing one. Not so. This soup was packed with cheese and, as a result, it was stringy, sticky and worse than a public spaghetti scenario. “You’re from Wisconsin. Have you ever seen so much cheese in a soup? And so problematic?” I asked Q as the cheese was positioning itself on my chin, in the neck of my cowl neck dress and on my sleeves. “You’ve done a better job eating spaghetti,” she replied. She was right and, as soon as I got the server’s attention, I requested some napkins. As I attempted to clean up my act, I continued to find cheese in places one would never guess. “Looks like I’m going to have to retire this dress,” I sadly whined.
A few hours later, my dress was off and I was cheese free in my pajamas, listening to The Cat’s Pyjamas, when So Hip invited me to come over for a glass of wine. Since I find her company to be bee’s knees, I quickly stepped into my wellies and out the door. I arrived to find her a couple of glasses into a bottle and eager to hand me a glass, which I graciously accepted.
As we began chatting she advised me her daughter was sleeping. To respect her rest, we kept the stereo and our voices low. Soon, her husband arrived home from work. Nothing worse than coming home from a long day of work to find your wife and her high-school friend two bottles in and behaving as if no time has passed and having no true sense of our decibels. “Enjoy your little play date,” he told us before scooting off to bed.
Being so hip, So Hip had the fire going, candles lit and incense nearby. I had enjoyed both the candles and the fire, however, had not yet had the privilege of enjoying the incense until So Hip ripped an incredibly stinky fart – girl was both ripped and ripping ’em. “Phew, sorry about that,” she said while lighting the incense and then added, “Smells like my cheese drawer.” “Do you fart in your sleep?” I asked her. “Yes, everyone does,” she replied. “Are they that stinky?” I asked. “Probably. I farted so bad the other night that I woke myself up,” she told me, passed more gas, relit the incense and said, “Cheese drawer.”
We continued to whine, wine, sing, and dance as though we were the only people in the house. It would probably be fair to say that we were being quite ‘incensitive.’ As a result, I have a feeling that, just like in high school, So Hip may be grounded from me for a while.