I was standing in my friend’s kitchen. This scene had just transpired and I’m suddenly reminded of another New Year’s party at a different Capricorn’s house.
Doodle-eee-ooo, doodle-eee-ooo. Please make wavy fingers in front of your screen to take you into the flashback.
I was obligated to be at this party. I was someone’s girlfriend. I had duties, such as accompanying my boyfriend to parties where I didn’t know or like anyone. I didn’t really mind. There would be drinks and snacks. I could amuse myself.
After a few hours of listening to a bunch of strangers’ high school reminiscences I broke away and found the kitchen island replete with all the hors d’oeuvres one would imagine a stuffy middle class white girl, I mean our lovely hostess would set out. Little shaped crackers, cubes of various cheeses, a round plate of vegetables with an indention designed to cradle a bowl of dip, said bowl filled with ranch dressing, etc.
I popped a squat on one of the high back bar stools and started grazing. I was gratuitously enjoying the crispness of a mini stalk of celery in a way that said I thought I was alone when the hostess materialized next to me.
“Are you eating the celery.” Same falling intonation as before.
Crunch. I answered with my mouth full “Yesh.”
“There’s celery in the refrigerator. ” She informed me.
I imagined this was true. Often times after preparing a platter of crudités there is left over celery and people store it in their home refrigeration unit to maintain crispness. Yes, this is plausible. But, why am I being told this? My ponderous pause exceeded the allowable response time, so she continued without me;
“You don’t have to eat that. There’s fresh.”
“Oh! No, these are just fine, don’t bother.” Honestly, they were just fine.
“You’re sure?” she said like a schoolmarm questioning my ability to discern good celery from bad.
“… … … yeah, these are good.”
She hovered over me, watching me eat with a constipated scowl. I had had a few drinks and as I write this it dawns on me that may have been a factor. The cold sobriety of Capricorn’s natural demeanor can be difficult for the inebriated to handle. Anyway, I was annoyed. Why would someone set out decoy appetizers, then come along and make me feel judged for eating them? Would I have to give in and take the “fresh” celery just to make her happy?
There were other factors influencing my reaction, I’ll tell you about them tomorrow.