Mid-Century Modern

by pjmcbride

LABOR DAY WITH THE NUMEROUS AND AGGRESSIVE

…my in-laws, that is. This involves finding a safety zone–a cushy chair in a far corner is ideal. However, on the way, Rom’s daughter was talking about some recent furniture finds, and mentioned that one piece was valuable because it was from the coveted Mid-Century Modern period. I thought, Wait, wait–back up. Mid-Century Modern? You mean what your father and I knew as “furniture”? So I have decided my kind are not baby boomers, but Mid-Century Modern, and I have a feeling you all are going to get pretty sick of this term before I’m done with it.

Annnyway, I was fashion-disadvantaged because the party setting featured a swimming pool, and I have no bathing suit, because up to now, no one I know has had a pool. (Even though I can’t swim, I enjoy the splashing-around part. As long as no one tries to shove me under water. Remember that I’m dangerous when frightened.) So I solemnly promised to buy myself a bathing suit next summer. I also told myself I’d lose the 10 (OK, 15) extra pounds before next summer, but like that book I plan to write, I’ve been telling myself that for a very long time. I will say, however, that I was very well-accessorized. Rom was planning on distributing some necklaces he’d made to his mother, daughter, and sisters, and I wore mine as well, so that no one would think I hadn’t got one. Because that’s just how good a Christian I am.

(Speaking of ecclesiastical matters, we at St Boniface have a new young priest. He is short, slight, and bespectacled, and I was trying to figure out who he reminded me of. It was at a high point in the Mass that I realized–my spiritual director is Harry Potter.)

I was looking forward to dinner, because there was a pile of fried chicken, and Rom said, “Did you see the corn bake?” “The–corn bake?” I said, barely able to believe something that sounded that good. “Yes, it’s got corn, creamed corn, and cream cheese–” and I was bolting for the kitchen. So excited was I that I piled these items on my plate, brought them happily to the table–and realized that not all the food was laid out, and the signal hadn’t been given to actually eat yet, and Your Humble Narrator had missed Another Social Cue, so I had to just sit there and be embarrassed until the actual moment arrived. No wonder I had to ask where the forks and napkins were–they hadn’t been put out yet. But I’m married to Rom, so these people are stuck with me.

And my old friend Charles, as he is not called, asked me how I’m doing on the book. As if that were a real thing. Maybe I should give up this fantasy life and start living the life I actually have.

Oh, and Bingo Pingo is alive and well. Thanks for asking.

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