Like going through Rush all over again, but not

To say I don’t get out much is an understatement. I would imagine most corpses have a more active social life than I do. This isn’t a complaint, merely a fact. Part of it is my situation: single mom of three, living with my mom, not a lot of disposable income for clubbing, blah, blah, blah. Another factor is that living at The Manor, a bit off the beaten path, is a comfortable haven free of traffic and the outer world. A nice place to be if you are slightly agoraphobic and looking to burrow. But today I had two social interactions. Yup, two! Not bad for somebody who has only gotten out twice in the past three months, and one of those was with my mother.
The first outing was with a fellow mom. Her daughter goes two days a week to the preschool where I teach and the other days to Devon’s school. A delightful wee sprite of a thing. Her mother and I got together to chat up sensory issues, she has an older son with them and knows far more than I about children who can’t stand textures or sounds or light or food or…. It was a delightful occasion and, for Devon’s first ever play date, quite a success. Devon and the older boy did have to dress up in costumes and masks before they could really deal with each other but I see nothing too out of the ordinary there. And, yes, I know the age of four is far too old for an initial play date but it’s been a hard few years and we are a bit behind on several things.
My second outing was just for me. A woman I know from my days on the ski mountain has invited me several times to a social group for dinner and chat. For various reasons I have not been able to attend in the past, but this time she gave me a two week notice and because I am so generous with my time I penciled her in between nothing and nothing. I didn’t know what to expect but it was lovely. A hand full of women, all with wonderful stories, willing to accept me in to their fold. We sat down to dinner without any tantrums about food and nobody asking why the hell we had to gather and make civilized conversation for more than 90 seconds. Nobody even fought or threatened anybody else. I was absolutely thrilled to be included except for one thing: at the end of the evening I got terrible gas pains. The kind where you think your gut might explode in a cloud of stank if you don’t time your breaths just right. It could have been the rich enchiladas which I couldn’t keep from sticking my fork into time and again. Or maybe it was the stress from making conversation without spewing spittle on the other ladies. Whatever the case, by the very end of the evening I knew that if I laughed too hard or moved with any suddenness they would all be on to my crude ways and send me packing back to my solitary existence. So I held it in, literally, until I reached my car where on the drive home I unleashed a cloud the likes of which even a hound dog would gag. The ladies needn’t ever know, unless they happen to read here, and my gut is now a happier place to be.