We went to dinner tonight to celebrate Mimi's birthday. Mimi does not officially belong to my family but she is a shared Mimi, and we are glad to have her. Tonight, she was literally surrounded by her adult children. The grandchildren sat at a table behind her. She strategized and planned the seating arrangement to her own perfection.
The waiter timed the deposit of nachos perfectly, placing the plate dangerously close to me. After eating half a plate myself and then offering the rest to those around me, I heard the words YOU FAT PIG! Well, yes, oink oink, but who's talking about me? My snout is far more capable than you might imagine. So, I spend the next few minutes rooting and foraging through my salad. Then, it hit me. Not a thought or an idea. Something really hit me. I touched my cheek and pulled off a wet, oozing glob of spit and paper. The definition of a spit-wad is "An awesome force in the universe. Owning all one at a time." It was an awesome force, all right. A declaration of war.
I'm now oblivious to everyone around me. I embarrassly admit that I had to get a quick lesson on making and firing spit-wads but I missed the part where you shove the paper in one end of the straw, and then blow on the end that the paper is in. I broke the first rule of firing spit-wads. I TURNED THE STRAW AROUND. I took a deep breath, blew hard, and it went about two feet and fizzled. Damn! Another incoming skud. Ouch! That one hit me below the left eye, followed by another one in my hair.
As I reload, I catch one of my enemies in the ready-position. This time I lean to my right and avoid the impact. Unfortunately, it hit a little girl at another table behind me. She's really little and has no idea what happened, and none of the adults with her had any idea. My turn!
This time the wad of wet paper is on the end of the straw nearest my mouth. I take a deep breath and.....the spit wad ends up in my mouth. While I have yet to shoot a good one, I now have them all over my shirt, in my iced tea, and on my plate. I pick up one that fell out of the straw and reload, only to have it end up in my mouth. I'm practically sure that it was someone else's spit-wad that is now in my mouth.
I'm determined, stubborn, whatever you want to call me but I am going to shoot a good one. Through my efforts to reload, I hear someone talking to me in the distance, something about acting my age. Haven't I told you not to talk to me when I'm busy? Husbands are s-l-o-w learners. For a brief second, I mentally went down my list of people that I am relieved weren't there: my mother, my father, my father-in-law, my gynecologist and colon specialist. Family members begin circling the table to apologize to those sitting quietly as I am blowing so hard on my straw that my face turns bright red. Nothing happens. I am losing this battle.
People begin leaving. But like every war in history, never turn your back on the enemy. It finally happens! Zing and Splat! I nailed him. He looks at his shirt, looks back at me, and says GOOD SHOT! Yes!! Satisfaction! It was another GREAT family dinner. NOW I will go back to acting my age.
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