Friday, February 06, 2009

You know you've had enough when . . .

We had some friends over to the house a few nights ago, just for beer and banter.

(Yes, drinking. In the middle of the week. Decadence.)

We discussed her love of writers, my irrational fear of poets, his trip to Sundance, Bear's project in Syracuse. All over Boulevard, killer salsa from Los Alamos, precociously delightful drawings, and some delicious snuggles from both Finn and Eddie.

Then I put Finn to bed, opened another beer, and, in what seemed a logical and perfectly appropriate move, paraded out my yearbooks (years 1986 and 1987).

I think there's a rule about this indulgent display of your past and much like you'd expect your wingwomen to vet your conquests, I fully expect Bear to jump in and provide a little sobering check and balance when I've so clearly fallen off the wagon of reasonable disclosure and into the muddy pond of oversharing.

I've expected it for the last 20 years. Never happened.

So there I am, sharing high school stories and--yes, I'm admitting this--reading my yearbook inscriptions. Out loud. And just when I'm about to launch into one of my drill team hand routines, you know, to further demonstrate the drama of a particular photograph (and still with nary a word, ear pull, cough, or stern stare from Barry), our friends tell us they need to go.

"What?!" I tend to overexclamate after a couple of drinks. "But look at this!! Doesn't he look like Bono! I had such a crush!"

Really need to go.

"What?! It's only 9:30! It's still early!!"

"Yeah, not anymore." And there, understated and after the fact, Barry's confirmation that I'd already crossed the line.


carie said...

HA HA! - the Nelson laugh.

samuel said...

Huh...what are friends for if not to laugh over past memories? Yearbooks is pushing it bit far though :p