Antique Daddy and I were invited to a Christmas party this past weekend.
I’ll be honest with you. We don’t get out much. Our party circuit is not even one lap these days.
So we got spiffed up for the party. We seem to be running low on spiff around here. Truthfully, our spiffwear no longer fits, so actually we were not all that spiffed up, mainly just cleaned up. I wore the exact same thing I wore to this party two years ago. No one noticed.
After the babysitter arrived, off we went to mix and a’mingle and do the jingle bell rock in a house full of people roughly as tall as we are. I would say here that it was an opportunity to enjoy grown-up conversation, but hanging out with Sean all day, I get enough of that already. The food was fabulous and spirits of all variety were served. Probably even Bacardi. But I don’t know; Bacardi is not my thing.
Later that week, I began to rethink my stance on Bacardi.
Antique Daddy and I were lying in bed watching a little late night TV when a Bacardi commercial comes on. The scene shows great looking people, wearing beautiful well-fitting fashionable clothes at a fabulously fun party where everyone is cool. No one has food on them or spinach in their teeth. Everyone at the party can hear over the music because they are laughing and exchanging witty repartee and smoldering glances and not thinking about if their kid will like the pirate boat they just bought for Christmas. Everyone is spiffy and cool.
“You know,” I tell AD, “If we drink Bacardi, then we would get invited to cool parties, we would automatically become great looking, wear fabulous clothes, partake in witty repartee and glance smolderingly.”
Like Cinderella, I paused here to review our situation – we are lying in bed at 9:30pm amongst matchbox cars and stuffed animals, we are wearing flannel jammie bottoms, sweatshirts and mismatched athletic socks.
“I guess we’d have to drink a lot of it,” I concede.
“Yup. So would everyone at the party,” he adds.
My spiff has gone missing and not even Bacardi can bring it back.