Which is not to imply that he’s ugly, either. Just your basic white-bread middle-aged guy in a suit. Besides which, if guys in my age group are cute, it’s really not cute, you know? Cute is for puppies, kittens, baby goats, etc. Or shoes. Or PukiPuki’s.
Do you know what you want to be for Halloween this year? Some of the folks I am meeting in the local doll group are taking their dolls, in costume, to a pumpkin patch for a photo shoot. I may or may not tag along, depending on what day they choose to go. Maybe this time next year I will be making tiny costumes. Meanwhile, I am content to eat candy corn and try to figure out what I want to be for Halloween. It needs to be something that I can throw into my knitting bag and put on once I get to work, or something I wouldn’t feel embarrassed to wear on the train.
Middle-aged woman with intermittently spiky hair (I really do need to get it cut, and I am laughing at myself because I typed it intermittenly; maybe my subconscious is telling me that I want to knit those gloves in my queue on Ravelry?) knitting on train is scary enough. Middle-aged woman with intermittently spiky hair and knitting needles, dressed as a ninja would be seriously scary! Though if I were a really good ninja, nobody would see me, right?
I have been spending too much time reading MyLifeIsAverage, which abounds in ninjas. If you skip that link, you’ll miss a cute non-ninja story.
And while I am sending you off chasing rabbits, these two will aim you right back at Halloween. What can I say? I just polished off the last bits in a small bag of candy corn. I’m in a holiday mood.
Which is not the kind of mood I ended up in, last night. I went straight from work to Whirled Fibers, where I had truly the best time yet. The shop was relatively quiet, and they were pricing yarn, and conversation was gentle and thoughtful and merry. Plus, I got some serious stitching done on the silk necktie skirt and discovered that the teal I thought was so pretty under the incandescent light of my living room, was positively garish under fluorescent light. [The sun is up; I shall have to step outside and get a third opinion before picking those stitches out.] Work had been intense, so I really needed to wind down.
Then I got a kids’ meal at a drive-through, thinking I would head up to the doll meet but deciding to just go on to the dance. When I got to the building, there was only one car in the parking lot. I am never that early! And the building was still locked, so I had to drive a few blocks for a comfort stop, because hello, Duncanville is on the far south side of Dallas, and Coppell/Lewisville is on the far north side. And I drive like a grandma.
When I got back to the church, there were maybe half a dozen people inside, and my least-favorite DJ was playing, but I had a nice visit with his wife [they have been married a month or two], and I danced a couple of dances with what few sisters there were, and I put on my socks and shoes, and I left.
As I was getting to Lorelai, one of my buddies and his girlfriend were getting out of his truck. He asked if I were not going the wrong way, and I told him no, I was going to go home and knit because I didn’t like the music. He said, “Well, they are really trying to move that [stuff] around.” He is a cowboy; insert expletive of choice. I just raised one eyebrow and told him that the noun he used, pretty much described it.
I have never before seen that man at a loss for words. I thought his eyebrows were going to fly up off his face.
I repented, a little, on the ride home. I did have the grace to pray that anybody else who showed up would like the music better than I did and would have a good time. It was mostly thirty-somethings by the time I left, and it was a sports-themed dance [the table decorations were good; I should probably have sat at the one with the boxing gloves], and a lot of them were in team jerseys.
I keep saying this, but I think no more church dances for this mama, except for those where DJ or Brother Sushi provide the music, and the dances at the singles’ conferences. I have heard a rumor that DJ is doing the honors at the next one for the older singles in November.
I had a lot of fun at the dances ten years ago, when I was in my 40’s. Now, not so much. And I know it’s entirely my responsibility to have a good time; to put a spin on what Eleanor Roosevelt said, nobody can make me happy without my consent.
And a part of what was going on last night, is that this weekend is going to be a spiritual feast, and the Adversary was just trying to distract and frustrate me. Well, one point for him, and now I’m going to eat some breakfast and get ready to go over to the chapel to knit and take notes and sing and be edified.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!