Don't you feel the music pumping hard?
But the way I project sadness onto people eating alone, even when I know it's ridiculous? I'm pretty sure I can attribute some of that to my life as a military brat.
Did you ever have to switch schools in the middle of the school year when you were a kid? Multiple times, even? Do you remember the feeling of standing in the middle of the cafeteria, gripping the handle of your lunch box, not knowing a soul?
Oh, God. Now I'm picturing that scene from While You Were Sleeping. "Have you ever fallen in love with someone you haven't even talked to? Have you ever been so alone you spend the night confusing a man in a coma?" Cue the violins!
Actually, let's just ask Caffeinated Librarian to sing me a soundtrack. That would be more fun.
I'm not damaged goods because I moved a lot, I swear. I made friends quickly and easily in every place we lived. But facing your classroom on the first day in a new school is infinitely easier than facing the cafeteria. In the classroom, things were structured. I was told where to sit, when to talk, and who my reading buddy would be. Lunch time, on the other hand, was a social free-for-all.
I can remember dutifully following the line to the lunch room, clasping my lunch box to my chest and longing for the tuna fish sandwich inside, simply because my mother's hands had touched it that morning. To this day, tuna sandwiches are one of my comfort foods.
See? It always goes back to food, eventually.
So, after waxing poetic about food and its Very Important place in my life, I'm sure you'll share my confusion over what happened in my house last night. Had you climbed onto my deck and peered through the window around 7:30 p.m., you would have seen it. How Mike returned from Arrowine with the wine we ordered last Friday, and a delicious wedge of Corsu Vecchiu cheese. How we cracked open a bottle of the Chardonnay, and retrieved the crackers from the cabinet. How Liz suggested turning on some music. And how ten minutes later, what started as a nice, quiet dinner had somehow dissolved into a bass-pumping, house-rattling, booty-shaking blasting of Salt n' Pepa's Push It, as we danced around with kitchen with our dog.
In closing, I hope you all enjoy your weekend activities. I, for one, will be living out your wildest suburban fantasies as I attend a holiday centerpiece-making party.
Oh yes. I know you are jealous.