Also see the beginning of this story.
Where we left off I was in a small shopping frenzy, counting down the quarter hours till our out of state guests might arrive. I had Hostess Butterflies, something that doesn't happened very often these days. I needed a shower. Handsome was feverishly wrapping up his day at the office, due home soon.
Allow me to say right here how fun it is
to share an adventure like this with my best friend!
xoxoxo
What kind of people would they be? Would they be able to tolerate my food? Could we find anything to talk about, or would the next fourteen hours be filled with awkward silences bound by polite smiling and bath towel fetching? If they are murderers, what would their chosen method of killing be?
"Pleeeeaaaase not knives. Please let them be foot-rub serial killers. And please let them wait till after dinner, cause I am famished." These were some of my thoughts. But I wasn't really worried because Handsome was home now. And he is well versed in the art of Wife Protection.
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I arrived back at the farm with plenty of time to lob my chain store purchases into approximately their correct places, double check our clean sheets supply, and cook dinner. Which, by the way, did not turn out to be anything classically Oklahoman. I opted to follow Ina Garten's advice and serve guests simple comfort food that I am confident preparing. So we had PBJ's and tortilla chips. Not really, but it crossed my mind.
I also rinsed off in the shower and doused myself with too much perfume, thinking that would either boost my conversation confidence or choke everyone into necessary silence.
Our Couch Surfers had some travel delays but nothing problematic. They ended up arriving a couple of hours later than expected. No biggie. The extended wait had the wonderful effect of calming my nerves rather than amping me up further.
Around 8:30 that evening we spied headlights at the front gate. I had just a bit ago put trays of food in the oven to rewarm. So now I brought them out, turned on some cool music, and peed one last time.
Do you pee a little extra when you're nervous or excited?
Clearly they weren't serial killers, since you're telling us the story now. I do hope they were random foot-rubbers, though. (ha! Foot rubber!)
ReplyDeleteHubs laughed - he thinks you and I might be twins with the peeing thing. He calls me Tiny Tank. I always pee one last time. Until the next last time. And on it goes. Or I do. Whatever. ;-)
I can't wait to read the next chapter. Oh, please don't pull a PW and make me wait months!!
You crack me up! I had to respond to the pee question. I refer to myself as a psychological (not psychotic) pee-er (sp?). If I go anywhere, I have to pee. Get on a plane, pee. Go into a meeting- yup, you got it, pee. The list is too long, because guess what? I gotta pee!
ReplyDelete