Lucy and I went to the Mother Daughter Christmas tea party for her school. We arrived on the scene just a little after 3:00. A pack of junior high school girls met us at the door, and speaking as little as possible, handed us name tags and pointed us in the direction of our table. There were tables set up in half of the room, the other half of the room was covered in a throng of hooting and screaming little girls in fancy party dresses. Red velvet abound.
It was amazingly loud. The patent leather shod pack moved in a whirling circle. The most intense play seemed to be at the center of the circle. The less fear-less of the tots stayed out on the edge of the frey. Someone started slide tackling/grabbing and Lucy headed for the refreshments. "That girl with the orange hair tried grabbing me. I need a sandwich." That's mama's little comfort eater. Announcements were made, Christmas carols played, tea cup after tea cup of tea was consumed. Most of the girls where just mashing up sugar cubes in half and half and calling it good. I chatted pleasant chats with other moms. Then it happened.
One little girl shrieked (and I mean shrieked) "Santa! Santa! Santaaaaaah!" The mosh pit ground to a halt and all of the little beauties mashed against street side the windows of the wood paneled Laurelhurst Club. They jockeyed for the best spot, and pressed their wee faces against the glass. I was born long after the Beatles hit American soil for the first time, but I have seen the footage. The Fab Four got nothin' on Santa. Santa got out of his Crysler Sebring, hiked up his big red drawers, slapped on his hat and made his entrance. The serious Santa fans attacked him at the door, they pulled his beard, they rubbed his velvety Santa suit. It was mayhem. Lucy wanted no part of it.
I directed her to the "sit on the strange man's lap line". She lost her basket. There was trembling, there was crying, the whole nine yards. I carried her over to the tea table. Poor thing. She had a nice cup of tepid water mixed with half and half with two lumps and I enjoyed some jazzy cranberry punch. Sometimes I wish she was more of a go with the flow kind of gal. But she is not. I am not either.
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