Party at my house
Where I’m from February is the month every single person gets Seasonal Affective Disorder and you become desperate to see a color other than gray and liquor stores probably see a dramatic increase in sales. But here in the South it’s a thing. It’s Mardi Gras. There are festivals and people decorate their houses and Charlie has come home from school with beads and masks and coloring pages. And there’s been like 10 King cakes over the past couple weeks at my work, which have little plastic babies baked into them, and if you get the baby you’re supposed to do things like buy lunch for everyone and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THESE PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT, YOU GUYS.
Yesterday was Fat Tuesday, which if the people I know are reliable, is a day where after work you eat and drink yourself into a coma. And let me tell you, it was quite a party around this house.
It started with Charlie, who was fast asleep by 8:30. And The Scientist, who is sick, was out by 8:45. Then the cats were all ‘hey food lady, give us some food kthxbye.’ So it was just me, in a rare night of silence and alone time, and I wasn’t about to waste it.
Oh yeah, who worked on her cross stitch until it was finished into the frankly reasonable hours of the night? This girl.
My family is assuredly scandalized my behavior.