Mary and Daphne #204

I had to basically fight off Mary. That’s always fun when it’s cuz she’s thirsty, but this was more along the lines of, “We never go to dinner parties. Lemme dress you up.” She was giving off serious mom vibes, specifically the vibes my mom who would always insist that for any remotely special event, she decided what everyone wore. But I can dress myself just fine. I was pretty and everything. I mean, it wasn’t even a fancy dinner party. Even calling it a dinner party overstates how formal it was meant to be. It was just a get together at which dinner would be served.

Mary’s main contribution to our preparation, other than fussing over me like a mother hen, was watching me bake dessert. The woman is a bottomless ocean of wholesome kinks. “Ooo,” she said before I could even get my measuring cup into the flour, “wait a sec.” And in a flash, she was putting an apron on me. Not that I’m criticizing cuz Mary in an apron makes me feel these weird feelings, but do I really just sit and watch her cook when she wears one? (Yes. Yes, I do sometimes.)

With me aproned and baking, Mary took the time to pat me on the head and tell me what a good baker I am, and I took the opportunity to point out, “A girl baker.”

“Mhmm.”

“A good baker and a girl baker. That would make me a …”

“A good girl baker.”

“Shorten it.”

“Good girl.”

Squee! Not to be bragging or nothing, but my wife thinks I’m a good girl. All to say that the day was delightful and no one, not even me, started out with any attitude.

“It would be a shame,” I hinted as subtly as Mary when she warns me about my (alleged mis)behavior, “to share this cake with others when we could eat the whole thing ourselves. I mean, I’m already sharing it with you.” True story – if Mary ever goes back to work in an office, I’m gonna bake and eat entire cakes while she’s gone during the day.

“We’re going to the party. End of story,” she declared. If either of us was in a mood prior to the party, it was Mary, who was in a declarative mood.

“That’s not what I was suggesting.”

“Then what we’re you suggesting?”

Crap. Think quickly! “That we, uh, could get a store-bought cake to take with us.” Of course, it would then be a shame to share that cake with others … My life needs more cake.

Mary’s I-don’t-believe-you face. “Uh-huh. You wanna tell me why you don’t want wanna go?”

“It’s not that I don’t wanna go. It’s just that … I’d rather stay home. Which is different … because reasons and stuff.”

“You’re always saying how bored you are and how you wish we saw our friends more. One offers to host a nice get together and you wanna stay home.”

“I’m a woman of contradictions … I have layers.” Know what also has layers? Some cakes, arguably the best ones. Just sayin’.

“We’re going, and you will have a good time.”

Would t’were so simple. If all it took was a decree from Queen Mary So-And-So (first of her name, empress of all the lesbians named Daphne who live in our house), I’d have no excuse for ever not having fun. I’d just say, ‘Mary, do you mind decreeing I have a good time?’ And she’d so degree cuz she likes me and stuff, and a good time would be had by all. But tw’is not so simple.

“But Mary,” I said, “new people.” Didn’t whine. Did not whine. I didn’t whine all day, which adds plus-one days to my infinity streak of not ever whining ever.

“Ann and Jo aren’t new. We know them.”

“In the context of … bilateral relations. It was just us and them. They’re gonna be there with our friends, and the group dynamic will be different, and … newness.”

“Newness is good,” she’s reminded me. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but …”

“But what?”

I thought on it hard for a good half second. “Nothing,” I sighed, “That’s all I got.” And next I went on offense, but I only went on offense cuz I was feeling defensive for no reason out of nowhere. “Then I’m wearing whatever I want.”

“Okay.”

“No diapers.”

“Alright.”

“Or pull-ups.”

“Fine by me.”

So we both went there in perfectly perfect moods fully prepared to have a good time. Really.

But that’s not what happened.