Now, it may seem like a bad idea to have a party only a week after getting the last boxes out of the apartment. As we continued to clean and stack and sort and discard it became clear that indeed, it really really was a bad idea.
Our favorite lifestyle group decided not to hold a December party this year – a month off was the group’s gift to the folk who usually host it. Well, we jumped into the gap, and by Friday, we’d begun to wonder if we’d remembered to don parachutes first. Friends came over Friday evening to move large furniture, but by the time we’d exhausted ourselves that night, the place still wasn’t ready.
Somehow – I have no idea how – we got the house ready by Saturday evening, and if one bedroom was full of re-packed boxes and odd pieces of furniture, well, we were willing to pay that price. The actual party went smooth as silk; we had about 20 people or so, and several of them decided independently to bring housewarming gifts. Conversation was geeky, food was yummy, and the company was awesome. Starr spent much of the evening looking slightly dazed, as if still thinking “Did we really pull this off? I mean, really?” Or maybe that was me.
I had decided earlier that, around 1:30 or 2, we’d politely show people the door; somehow, this didn’t happen, and we still had about six or eight people in the middle of an intense discussion at 5:30, when I collapsed entirely. Starr had to wave the white flag as well; we picked a friend who we could trust not to steal the silverware, and asked him to make sure that everyone got home okay.
When I finally got up yesterday, not only was the place locked up and shutdown nicely, they’d even cleaned both the kitchen and the table where we’d stacked the party food. Talk about a bunch of twisted perverts…
We’ve got to do this again sometime. But not soon.