I remain a little fuzzy. Do I actually have an appointment? Or, am I dropping in unannounced? Kind of a "Hey Girl, I was 'in the neighborhood' and thought I'd drop in," type visit.
Walking from the circular drive to the front porch I am acutely aware of two things:
First, her car, a 1970s AMC Gremlin in need of a paint job--and perhaps an AC repair since her windows are cranked all the way down--is parked away from her side-facing garage, at the far end of her long driveway (I have time to ponder the Gremlin because the Texas heat has zapped my energy, and my progress on the shorter walkway feels longer than her driveway). I've watched enough of her on-the-go make-up tutorials from the interior of her ride to make me think it's an SUV or even a minivan. Both are a far cry from a 50 year old Gremlin.
Second, as I arrive at her front porch, an overwhelming desire to disrobe overcomes me. I tug irrationally at the v-neck collar of my t-shirt. Irrationally, because it's a pretty deep v-neck yet it feels like it's constricting my neck, and because I realize I have done it again--I have dressed myself backwards--well, at least it's only my top. This time.
Before I can tug the top around, the front door opens wide to reveal Emily's husband, as portayed by my Tree Guy, Mike. He is clad in dripping wet painters pants, and is wielding a pipe wrench.
Upon seeing me he gruffly says, "Party's in the den," and rushes off to his plumbing crisis.
Party? So I guess that mystery is solved. I don't have an appointment.
And not only have I arrived uninvited, I'm crashing a party. Again.
Only the constricting neckline keeps me from bolting as I tell myself, I'll just say, "hey," excuse myself to the bathroom to deal with the top, then leave.
Entering the den I spy one of my former Social Workers. Former, because as of today she has a new job. I'm proud and happy for her, but sad for those of us left behind.
Amber is sitting on the couch surrounded by her three offspring. I realize the Gremlin must be hers--even though I'm pretty sure she also drives an SUV--this is Texas after all--where SUVs and Pick-up Trucks are king of the road.
Amber looks up from the book she's reading and motions toward the table, where Emily is likewise reading, while also surrounded by her own threesome of kidlets.
All six of the minor characters in both camps are reading varrious printed books, magazines, and eReaders. My word-loving heart swells with pride and happiness.
Since this appears to be a Wild Reading Party, I feel less bad about crashing.
After we exchange pleasantries, I ask if I might use her bathroom. She readily agrees and waves me in the general vacinity of the garage side of her home.
The first bathroom I encounter is ankle-deep in water. The sound of a cascading waterfall is deafening and I continue my search for a quieter, and drier, bathroom. And being highly suggestable, I am now close to needing a bathroom that is fully functional.
The next room is huge--almost the size of her garage. It is the most luxurious sauna I've ever seen. Very nice upgrade. She always says her side hustles pay for a lot of "extras " for the Family. I just never realized how lucrative they are. However, as beautiful as the sauna is, there's nary a bathroom in sight. Although I consider twisting my top around on the spot, the humidity dampens my enthusiasm. Sadly, I leave to continue my potty quest.
The third, and final door I open is indeed another bathroom--and it appears to be fully functioning--with the fluffiest towels imaginable hanging on the towel racks. They beckon to me, and I can not resist. As I blot away my sauna glow the towel actually tickles my skin. I giggled.
Of course, the tinkling of my laughter is what awakened me--that and the purposeful feather-light tickle of my cats tail skimming ever-so-lightly across my chin.
Best. Alarm. Ever.
Waking up I realize I am "of an age" where I can no longer tolerate one of two things prior to bedtime: narcotic-laced meds or spicey food.
One, or both, led to a vividly bizarre dream last night.
