W took J to her last dance class–incidentally, she’s had very few bug bites lately. Meanwhile M and I rode bikes for a while. Later, we girls went to the Niskayuna Art Fair because one of our dog friends was in the dog show. As soon as they stepped out, I knew that Daisy was a shoo-in for the “Uncanny Resemblance to Human Owner” Prize. Imagine the girl with two big, curly pigtails. Plus, they’d both gone with animal-print fashion. There was much joy among the girls and their friends.
Besides that, it was pretty quiet. And very hot. Oh! But I did like this one quilter-lady’s stuff. Plus, she was kind and patient with the kids.
At some point during the day, I found myself trapped in performance that was not enjoyable. Actually, I would call it “excruciating”. M called it “torture”, J kindly said “a little boring” and their friend judged it “horrible”. I’m not saying exactly what it was, because that would be mean. In fact, I was just trying to remember M’s adjective, and when I asked her and she realized that I was putting it in the blog, she gasped and said, “But what if the [lady/man/performing group] reads it?” In any case, you’re safe: I couldn’t find any more performances scheduled soon.
I was quite proud of the girls, though–they were sitting in the front row and I really didn’t know that they were hating it as much as I was. I applauded them for their polite attentiveness. Still, there had been a break in the action when we could have made a discreet exit, and I’ll never get those precious moments of my life back.
As we talked about this later, W recalled an argument that we have picked up, off and on, for the last ten years. It concerns an evening when we made the mistake of purchasing tickets to see The Golden Bowl. We did not enjoy this movie. But we aren’t movie talkers. At some point, early on, I leaned over and said something like, “We could leave, if you want to.” Now, we never leave movies. We are too cheap. So, I had never, ever before suggested leaving a movie. I thought that by merely suggesting that we might leave, I was indicating that I was not enjoying the movie. W insists (to this day) that by soliciting his opinion on the matter, I was giving the impression that, while I was absolutely enjoying the movie, it had occurred to me that perhaps he was not and that we should leave even though I liked it. On that fateful night ten years ago, he’d shaken his head vehemently, indicating:
- No! I certainly don’t want to leave this movie! and
- Don’t you remember that we are not movie talkers? Because we are far too thoughtful and conscientious to talk–frankly, I’m surprised at your misbehavior.
I spent the next hour attempting to analyze his bodily and facial expressions in the dim lighting in an attempt to ascertain whether he was actually enjoying this movie, or if he thought that he was being thoughtful because of course he assumed that any beautiful period movie is a winner in my book (in his defense, it usually is). Finally, I demanded in a more urgent tone that we leave-leave-leave. And we walked out of the theater arguing about whose fault it was that we’d stayed so long.
Anyway, today we determined a clear family exit code. It is a quick whisper in the ear: “I’m ready. Would you like to leave?” So we’ll be prepared for next time.
– – – – – – – – – – – –
For dinner, we took a picnic to the Crossings. There was a ginormous mess o’ cars as we drove in, and W asked, “What could there be? There wasn’t anything on the blog.” I had a brief panic attack, fearing that there’d be clowns and face painting and a petting zoo. . . a veritable wonderland that I’d allowed my readers to miss. Luckily, it was just a pile of teenagers doing some prom-related activity: many looking very cute, and a few sporting those hot mama cut-out prom dresses that my children will never, ever, ever wear.
Guess what? I never even set foot on the playground. I sat at a picnic table just watching the entire time. The girls didn’t want me–they made friends on the playground, and when they were hungry for dinner, we let them take our just-in-case-we-don’t-find-a-table blanket and the food and have their own private sister picnic. It was beautiful to behold.