This is not my beautiful house

Last night I went to dinner at the house of my friend who I hiked with who was complaining about her seven-year-old. Why did I do this? Well, because she asked, and because I hate sitting home on Friday nights and will take whatever baby-friendly invites I can get. I made a cherry cobbler in hopes her kid would like it and by extension, like me. Hey, if you can't bring presents, bring sugary treats, right?

I always find participating in other people's family dinners profoundly uncomfortable. It might be because I didn't grow up with family dinners (for the most part), or just because I'm awkward, or because without cursing and bitter sarcasm, who am I?

Suffice it to say they did make me welcome, the kid was no where near as bratty as I expected, and I survived, although my cheeks and brain hurt from positivity and smiling by the end of the night. Those who know me will understand my terror when the kid insisted on playing with - and of course, popping - balloons when I first got there. My friend said I'll have to get used to having balloons around now that I have a kid. No, no I won't. Still once the boy warmed up to me a bit he was quite endearing - wanting to show me his toys, and I made an effort to be impressed and ask lots of questions about them, which is huge for me. Unfortunately he didn't care for the cherry cobbler, which he took one bite of and them pushed the bowl away. Oh well, could have been worse - he could have said "yuk!" or that he hated it, right?

After he went to bed my friend and I watched Hannah and Her Sisters, which I had brought over thinking it would be a better alternative to the shitty romantic comedy she'd rented. She did that thing I hate when you try to introduce someone to a movie you love - she talked over the most important parts, asked questions that aren't at all relevant to the plot, and fixated on unimportant things, like how much older Michael Caine was than Barbara Hershey and how annoying and depressive Woody Allen's character is (that's kind of the point...). Anyway. At the end she simply said, "well, that was weird." Ok. Never mind!

When I got home with the baby (who thankfully was being unbelievably cute all night) I was so relieved to be in my own space, with my own house smells and my own furniture and things. I don't think they have a bad life - I really don't. And all in all it was a nice evening and they really made an effort to make me feel comfortable. But it's just so good to have your own nice little life, you know?