Saturday was full of rain - the kind of rain that just begs you to stay home, safe and cozy under the covers. A heavy, cold rain. A day to stay home, sleeping peacefully to nature's drumline, a hot chocolate sort of day, a day to catch up on laundry.
Or a day for a board meeting at work, a day to slush through the pouring rain for a cake and muffins for the aforesaid meeting, a day to think evil thoughts for your husband as he lies rosy and toothsome in bed while you pull on your black sweater. A day to wear galoshes if you had them, oh indeed.
Board Meeting was uneventful and low key, dutiful people lulled by the relentless rain. We consoled ourselves with the most delicious barbeque and sweet tea, with conversation and cupcakes topped with frothy icing. I splashed through town for a reception for dear friends, more food, homemade eggrolls, and wedding cake shaped like a stack of stairs. My parents rode the ark through the deluge, my mother ate my leftover wedding cake. I took home a vase full of snapdragons, along with a stack of my pewter dishes, shining in their own newness, happy to be out of the closet and into life.
I went home, tired out by all the activity, and thought longingly of my glow-in-the-dark snowman pajamas, calling my name. We'd promised to go out for Angie's birthday, and I wanted to go out, happy to be doing something besides work, church, and home, but still longing for home and bed. We ventured out in the night, and I had my first Long Island Iced Tea since, I think, the honeymoon. It put a walloping on me, so much so that things were swimming and if I could have curled up under a table, I would have, happily. This girl can't hold her liquor, not that I ever could, even though I cut my teeth on that deliciously toxic brew.
Angie and I kept an eye on the funky video game attached to the bar, monopolized by people playing, it looked like, virtual golf. When the space cleared, we sprinted across, clutching our drinks, and slid into the empty seats. A guy in a orange shirt sneered, "Look at y'all, playing computer games at the bar." We were astounded and just a little angry by his rudeness, and then even more pissed off when we realized our favorite game - the one we'd waiting ALL NIGHT TO PLAY - was gone!
Husband and I left pretty early, full of conversation and stories that are only told in smoky bars, things that are shouted over the din and clatter of alcohol and pool tables. We drove through the night, tacos in our laps, talking about that stuff that comes out easily after a couple of drinks, the things you guard without meaning to, your mental soundtrack looping through your head, things so personal that you don't think twice about what you're hearing, only that it's part of you and who you are. Until it's gone, and good riddance to it. We opened the door to our home laughing, safe from cold rain, from hunger, from loneliness, for that shining moment in the dark night.