9:18 a.m.||||2004-05-25
The compulsory dinner.
Last year we had Josh’s birthday at Linda’s, because we lived there. And she always throws a party, she does, or her sister does, and there are around eleven regularly participating adults in the family, so there at least eleven birthday dinners, not including the four toddlers whose birthdays are also dinner affairs, too late in the day for any good to come of it. After desert, so their blood sugar is through the roof.
And she made sure everyone there last year knew what a fucking martyr she truly is.
And she was put upon.
So this year I wanted none of that, but since, as yet, I still have no house of my own at which to host such a party, and as I am still obliged to throw a party, I had to have the party on my dime at her house.
So I was able to spend way too much at a party I not only didn’t want, but think was over the board retarded as far as planning for things that would appeal toddlers, and in the process make really kickass shishkabob and a red velvet birthday cake with jelly bellies and sour patch octopuses.
Josh was a trooper. He almost made it. He was so tired and frustrated by the time we got to presents that he only wanted the first one he opened and wanted to go hide with it. It was hard getting through the presents and he was in no position to act grateful.
Just think tiny living room, eleven adults.
I still struggle.