"Welcome to our fabulous tear down!" -- Linda, the b'day gal
So we arrived, hubby and I, sledgehammers at the ready, only to discover that I'd misunderstood the invitation. This wouldn't be the first time there's been a major disconnect. There was that briss I showed up to, years ago, thinking it was a pool party. Still not sure how that happened. On Sunday, "dress for destruction" turned out to be more playful metaphor than actual dress code. Unlike the other gals who showed up in casual-yet-chic party attire, I wore my schleppy black cargo pants and old sneakers. "You mean we're not really going to tear down the entire house?" I asked Linda, the b'day gal. "We're just smashing in a wall," she said. "Can I get in a few whacks?" I asked. "Take as many as you want," she said. "Where's my hard hat?" She laughed and patted my shoulder. "Oh, Carol," she said, and walked off to greet other members of the symbolic wrecking crew. "Sometimes I take things too literally," I whispered to Anne, who'd promised to make me taller with Pilates, but that didn't happen. "I've noticed," Anne said. "You said you'd make me taller!" "I was speaking metaphorically!" Just then, I spotted a stripper pole leaning against the wall. Of course, it could've been a fireman's pole, or a tether ball pole. "What's that?" I asked Eric, husband of the b'day girl. "It's a stripper pole." I immediately hugged him. "Oh, thank God. Interesting housewarming gift. Use it in good health." "It came with the house," he said. "WHAT?" I asked, eyeballs popping. "You may have seen it on a certain reality show." "One of yours?" (He produces reality shows, doncha know.) "No." "Which one? Can I put it in my world-famous blog?" "You can say we're tearing down the house of a certain well-known family." "A family people can't get enough of, for reasons that escape me?" "Knock yourself out." I picked up a sledgehammer. "Put me to work."