Days of Whine and Noses

I've waited as long as I can. I've told this story so many times that if I don't write it down now, there will be no one left who hasn't already heard it. I'm gonna run it by the editor before posting so hang on to your hats, here we go.

Last week a friend of Charlie's from the office invited us (as in the collective, all six of us) to have a cook-out with he and his wife. That's right, he and his wife, no kids. So I started dreading it the week before, when the invitation first came. They are totally lovely people, they've been to our house before, had dinner with us (the collective us), brought over a covered dish when Ace was born. Top notch folks. With no kids. Just two Dachsaunds. Which means they've had thirty odd years to grow up, go to school, get jobs, work at jobs, collect money, save money and spend money. Spend money on things. Tasteful things. Antique things. They have made purchases without first analyzing whether or not the item could withstand the weight of a toddler jumping maddly on it, without ever wondering about an items washability. They've had time to set up and decorate a home without ever wondering where they would lock up the permanent markers. They have knick-knacks, and gee-gaws. Not the kind your grandmother has sitting around on doillies. They have decorated with things that you might see in a magazine, folk art wooden games with tiny wood balls, a glass and brass hour glass, pillows that are only decorative in nature.

There would have to be some strategy on our part, and I would definetly have to wear my swim cap.

The first thing I had going in my favor was that it was a backyard b-b-q, so I would be able to usher everyone fairly quickly into the back yard. I tried to dress them in something that was cute yet ketchup friendly, and then I began to lecture. I lectured like a woman on fire, like a woman on a mission. I lectured with great fervor and intensity, and I spared no threat.

I did not, however, lecture out of the box.

We got to the house, I lined them up in the order that I wanted them to enter in the front door and exit into the backyard. We couldn't dispense with the entry through the house, as we'd never been there and therefore needed to take the tour. John (12) first, Melee' (9) second, followed by Charlie, Ace (2) , Me, and The Peach (4). My thought being, that the older two could hang on to the threats longer, while Charlie and I guarded the Menace and his sister. The door swung open, enter John, Melee', Charlie, Ace, Me and ("OH, no! No! NOOO!) I was two steps into the foyer when I smelled it, I turned and looked down and she already had her hand up to her nose. I squated down to get to her eye level and whispered between clenched teeth, "SHHHHH!" as she said "WHAT'S THAT SMELL?" It was mothballs. (Let me pause at this point, and say that I enjoy the smell of mothballs, I don't consider myself wierd at all, it's just that my grandmother kept them in the hall closet with the quilts which I napped on from the time I was a baby ... however I recognize that I am not the norm.) "It's the smell of antique furniture.", I whispered. "But don't say anything." I added. "WHY?" she asked with her nose pinched. "Because it's not nice to say 'WHAT'S THAT SMELL?' when you go to someones house." "WHY?" she repeated, tentatively testing the air. "It's just not." I answered lamely. We caught up with the tour already in progress, my mind was racing as I tuned in to John "oohing" and "aahing" his way through the house. (Good, nobody else noticed.) We checked out the lovely renovation of their downstairs bathroom and pulled the monkeys down before they swung off the hand-made tailored drapes hanging from the antique four poster bed. I took a cursory glance around for the next target of my childrens intentions and began herding them toward the back yard with John running a constant diologue in the background "Man, this is cool! What's this?" "DON'T touch that!" "I KNOW!" "Wow, Mom, did you see this?" "Yes, very nice dear, come along to the back yard now." "MAN, why can't we have a house like this?" ("Because I chose the glamorous life of a zookeeper.", I hissed in my head. There it is, I can see it, go ahead Charlie, get that back door open!) We stepped out in to the backyard, only to find that there are people who have yards that are not fit for children. Sure, maybe someone has kids who can go to a back yard cookout without climbing on the lattice arbor, but not me. ( Suburban Turmoil: Oh Hell No ) There was a gravel path that wound around the manicured lawn and beautiful flower beds, complete with a bird bath and a wrought iron garden sculpture. Catch the key words people? Gravel? Bird bath? Garden sculpture? Did I mention the sculpture was a moveable globe with an arrow through it? Charlie and I choked down those bugers faster than our ninth grade year, when somehow we wound up with a schedule that allowed a 20 minute lunch break. Jumping up every couple of minutes coughing "GET OFF OF THAT!" with hamburger buns spewing out the sides of our mouths. We managed to get everyone fed without the birdbath taking a fall and only a few handfuls of gravel thrown, with the all grace and mannerism befitting common livestock. (Only desert left now.) We went back in for a piece of Cookie Bar that I had brought, and seated the kids at their kitchen table. Which, of course was nicer than most peoples formal dining with the added attraction of casters on the chairs. Since there were only four chairs, I sat on the edge of a wingback chair closest to the eating area. As I started to relax a bit and she was cutting the cookie, John leaned over the bar, put his nose in the air, and I thought I heard him say *SNNIIIFF** SNIIIFF* "What's that smell? It kind of smells like...*sniff*.. Dachsaund and.. *sniff*.. um cooking. But... in a good way."

Game over.

We get in the car, pull out of the driveway and I said "O.K. The Number One rule of going to peoples houses is that you never, NEVER, under ANY circumstances, comment on the smell of their home." Over yells of "WHAT?" "WHAT!?" and Charlie laughing, I continued, "The ONLY exception to this rule is IF and ONLY IF they have a GIGANTIC candle in the MIDDLE of the table and IT MUST BE LIT!! THEN AND ONLY THEN can you say "SNIFF, SNIIIIFFF, HMMMM, WHAT'S THAT SMELL?" John contends that he said "dog food" instead of "Dachsaund", like that's so much more socially acceptable and then he said "Can't they smell that?" and Charlie yelled "NO! NO THEY CAN'T SMELL IT! OUR HOUSE SMELLS LIKE DIAPERS AND GYM SOCKS BUT WE CAN'T SMELL IT, BECAUSE WE LIVE THERE!!" I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard. Just writing it down brings tears to my eyes. I don't even want to know what they said about us after we left that house. So if you're one of Charlie's co-workers reading this, I beg you, please don't pass it on, I don't want to know. I'm not leaving the house again till I'm fifty-five. Surely I'll be able to show my face by the time Ace is 17.