It’s party time somewhere

Just Passing Through

I don’t go to a lot of Christmas parties any more. I used to. Well, maybe back when I had children at home, and their friends’ parents were our friends and we all got together regularly. Back when I was working, we had a big faculty Christmas party every year. And our young couple’s Sunday school class always had a party. No one missed one of those parties — there was free babysitting at the church. Let me tell you when you have a five-year-old and a two-year-old, you write those parties on the calendar in RED.

Maybe people don’t have Christmas parties. Or maybe all my friends have died, moved to the nursing home, or can’t remember my name. “Oh, yea, we ought to invite that funny woman who used to teach at the junior high — dark hair, big girl, always brought store-bought cookies — can’t remember her name — don’t worry about it.” Yes, my social calendar is pretty empty this year. I did go to a party with some of the middle-aged couples at church. Okay — so we are all on Social Security, Medicare, and the orthopedic surgeon’s Christmas card list. Maybe we are a little past middle age, but we did have a nice party.

The rules have changed. We used to have to stay until the babysitter at church had to go home. Some of the couples with no children or high school kids could stay later. Now days, the invitation says from seven to nine. No one complained. By that time, three of the men were asleep on the couch and one woman had already taken out her teeth.

We were all asked to bring a holiday snack and our favorite beverage. Although no one showed up with prune juice, I did see a woman slip a MiraLAX package into her purse. The food was good, but the incentive to try to outdo everyone else has passed. When we get to “that age,” we realize the ones who want to cook will cook, and the rest of us will bring the Doritos.

My biggest problem was finding something to wear. My “bling” dress that I wore to last year’s party left glitter all over the hostess’s floor, couch, and dining room chairs — so I threw it away. I had dresses, but they all seemed to be in summer and fall colors. My black dress with the beaded fringe was a size 24. The only reason it was still in the closet was because it had slipped off the hanger and hid behind a box in the back. Last worn over a hundred pounds ago, it had a “Hello, my name is …” from the 1994 State Democratic Party Inaugural celebration.

I didn’t have a Christmas Sweater — not a pretty one — not an ugly one. I have had them in the past. Once I wore a really nice one to Church during December, and a dear friend of mine asked me if there was a contest that morning — Ugly Sweater Contest. I never wore it again.

So, this year, I searched through the closet and came up with a short, ruffled dress that my daughter passed down to me. It didn’t fit her — I’m sure — and the blue was closer to periwinkle than it was electric blue, so it had never been worn. I pared it with some gray leggings that matched my hair, picked up my plate of caramels I’d ordered on line, and went to the party.

I had a great time, and I got home in time to watch the news.