nights where you start at an intimate, classy book launch party, all civilized and erudite, and two hours later you find yourself wandering through the crowd at an 80s hairband cover show, plastic pitcher in-hand to collect donations for the medical bills of a single mother with cancer.
I have no idea who the woman with cancer was; a friend pressed me into service because the other people they'd tapped to collect donations 'disappeared' at the last minute. I ended up with mostly my own money in the pitcher, because I am not a very assertive person and most of the people in the crowd looked like Hell's Angels, ultimate fighters, or the women who loved them. And Poison. Because after all, we were at a show featuring a band called "Cherry Pie." I should point out that the whole reason for the band and the crowd was that it was my husband's best friend's Scott's birthday party.
I've written about Scott before; he very thoughtfully surprised us by decorating our sidewalks one day:
And our Christmas wreath a few years ago:
Also, have you ever been in conversation with someone and they suddenly and quite boldly start to clean their glasses on the edge of your shirt? That happened last night, too.
Wow, I just realized you can see a reflection of me taking the "Welcome Dick Gobbler" picture! I can't remember the last time that storm door window was so clean....more later this week!