We've still got a month until baby P turns one, but we made the invitations today. They're pretty epic. I'm really pulling out the stops (for me, anyway) for this party. I think we're mostly celebrating that we all made it through the first year alive. Every other party from here on out is probably going to be room temperature pizza and playing in the hose. This year, though...this year is The Girl Who Lived.
And that's just the beginning. So much fun to plan.
I was thinking the other day about all the bad dates I've been on. There are a lot of them. I'm starting to think that it's a disproportionately high number of bad dates. So I got to thinking that I should change names and details and turn them into a novel. (I'm always looking for things to turn into novels.) But not just a novel, but like an encyclopedia, where each chapter starts with a definition of a kind of bad date. The bait-and-switch, parental interference, mid-date abandonment, to infinity and beyond, etc. Some of them were so bad that I would actually split them up into multiple definitions, just because it's so unbelievable that so many ridiculous, awful things could happen on one date (but they did. oh, how they did). Others weren't necessarily terrible, but had something weird enough happen that it makes an okay story. Like the time a date and I were walking downtown and someone else started hitting on me. He was really nice about it--I think the other guy may have had developmental delays--but it was funny and weird.
Then I got to thinking of other people I know who have had lousy dates. You know, so I can appropriate their experiences into my book. I think Reva had someone steal a car once? That's pretty epic. I have another friend who had a date try to guess her weight...and he guessed high. I was nice enough to go out with a kid after he told me he had asked everyone else he could think of, but they all said no. (It was exactly as great an evening as you are imagining.)