Watering the Plants

Last night my husband and I went to a cocktail party.  We haven’t been to a cocktail party in…well, I can’t remember the last time we went out to socialize.  This party happened to be a yearly event through his work, but we hadn’t been in years.  Having three kids in eleven months has a tendency to do that to you.  Before you know it your communication skills have shriveled up like a houseplant begging for water. 

Me to Bugaboo:  “How’s school?”

“Fine.  We were assigned a paper in English.”

“Have you started it?” I inquire.

“Yes,” he says, with no explaination.

“What have you done?”

“I picked the book,” he says showing me the title of a book I know he’s already read.

Not exactly stimulating.  A friend who saw me at the party said to me today, “You looked like you were having a good time!”

And I realized that I felt like a dying plant that had finally been watered.  And it felt wonderful.

I wonder if my houseplants would do as well with the red wine as I did.  Maybe I’ll have to try that.

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