Last Friday evening, we had dinner with some friends at their house. We had been remiss in keeping up with them for quite some time. You never think two years will pass by before you see people again that you enjoy so much, but it happens. Luckily, our friendship easily weathers the scourge of time.
It was one of those magical summer evenings you see in glossy Southern Living layouts. The weather was mild and the breeze was gentle. The night air was sweet. We had a great time relaxing and sipping Sangria by their pool, eating Thai food, laughing and catching up and enjoying their precious little 7-month-old baby. I had almost forgotten how tasty little baby toes are.
And apparently, Sean had an even better time than we did.
He played with the other children, swam in their pool and played on their fabulous play yard. They had toys galore, including a little motorcycle, which Antique Daddy took him riding on up and down the street. He was having so much fun that I thought he might spontaneously combust into a spray of snips and snails and puppy dog tails confetti.
As the evening wound down, I told Sean that it was getting late and that we needed to gather up his stuff to go home. As expected, he protested saying he didn’t want to go. “I’m going to stay here!” he announced and then ran into the house calling over his shoulder, “I’m going upstairs to pick out my room!”
At that moment, searing pain and amusement combined to create the ultimate case of heartburn.