Sep. 19th, 2010 12:23 pm
Gimpy goes to dinner
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muckefuckThe difficulty of hosting a party pales for me next to the difficulty of not hosting a party. Yesterday morning, I was feeling the effects of a week of not staying off the bum foot enough, so I forced myself to rest. I mean that literally--at one point, I was sitting on the bed with my leg raised staring off petulantly into space as I listened to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu bustling upstairs.
By the time the guests--monshu's coworkers and their spouses--began arriving, I was ensconced in the comfy chair with a cocktail and I did my best to hold that position all night. In this, I was helped immeasurably by the decision of the one cute bear of the evening (apart from my spouse, natch) to take the seat nearest me. Oh, and did I mention he's a podiatrist? If he hadn't come right out and told me that my present doctor was the best foot guy in the city, you know I'd be switching. His respect for my doctor (and his former mentor) was clear at the end of the evening when he most deferentially suggested a few adjustments to my crutches: once I revealed that I'd set them that way myself without any help from a specialist, he became much bolder. "Okay, then I'm not suggesting, I'm telling you."
Dinner was success. The Old Man's tagines went over well and everyone stayed longer than we'd anticipated. (We'd set an early start time in order to give the suburbanites plenty of time to make it back to the boonies.) But I keenly felt my absence from the bar. I know if I'd been there, I could've sold a couple people on Ephemerals (one of the couples brought a fresh bottle of Ransom Old Tom) and maybe a sojutini or two. (Not to mention prevented some retarded from opening both bottles of Muga in order to pour one glass. Grrr!) As it was, I only allowed myself up to make a fresh tisane of lemon verbena from the garden. (Yes, I cut it myself, goddammit.)
And poormonshu! Before we'd even reached the dessert stage, he was ready to collapse. Thank the goddess Turtle and her wife stayed after to help us clean up. And hour after they were gone, we were crashed on the couch watching A mighty wind, me contemplating the rueful conclusion that it'll be small get-togethers at best until I'm able to walk like a normal person again.
monshu bustling upstairs.By the time the guests--
monshu's coworkers and their spouses--began arriving, I was ensconced in the comfy chair with a cocktail and I did my best to hold that position all night. In this, I was helped immeasurably by the decision of the one cute bear of the evening (apart from my spouse, natch) to take the seat nearest me. Oh, and did I mention he's a podiatrist? If he hadn't come right out and told me that my present doctor was the best foot guy in the city, you know I'd be switching. His respect for my doctor (and his former mentor) was clear at the end of the evening when he most deferentially suggested a few adjustments to my crutches: once I revealed that I'd set them that way myself without any help from a specialist, he became much bolder. "Okay, then I'm not suggesting, I'm telling you."Dinner was success. The Old Man's tagines went over well and everyone stayed longer than we'd anticipated. (We'd set an early start time in order to give the suburbanites plenty of time to make it back to the boonies.) But I keenly felt my absence from the bar. I know if I'd been there, I could've sold a couple people on Ephemerals (one of the couples brought a fresh bottle of Ransom Old Tom) and maybe a sojutini or two. (Not to mention prevented some retarded from opening both bottles of Muga in order to pour one glass. Grrr!) As it was, I only allowed myself up to make a fresh tisane of lemon verbena from the garden. (Yes, I cut it myself, goddammit.)
And poor
monshu! Before we'd even reached the dessert stage, he was ready to collapse. Thank the goddess Turtle and her wife stayed after to help us clean up. And hour after they were gone, we were crashed on the couch watching A mighty wind, me contemplating the rueful conclusion that it'll be small get-togethers at best until I'm able to walk like a normal person again.