The Ordinary Imperfection of Daily Life

Last evening my husband and I had dinner out with friends; there were six of us in all. Mitch and I drove there with one couple and were to meet the other couple -- friends of our friends who we didn't know -- at the restaurant at 6:15. When the four of us arrived we asked the hostess if the others were there waiting for us. She assured us in no uncertain terms that we were the first of our party to arrive, and seated us on a side porch.

The four of us chatted for awhile, occasionally checking the time since the other couple was late. And getting later. "It's unlike them, they are usually quite punctual," somebody said. After about fifteen minutes a phone call was made to the latecomers, who answered and said they were waiting for us at the restaurant, sitting outside on the veranda and wondering why we were so late. Ha, ha, ha, I guess?

Not funny if you ask me. This stupid and unnecessary error went unpunished and in fact even unmentioned, leaving the oblivious young hostess with her nose ring and her several tattoos and her five or six pierced earrings in one ear to continue on her blithe, moronic way. I hated that. I also didn't really like the food, we have much better wine at home, and not one person asked me one question about myself all evening. That was supposed to be me out having a good time socializing, better than being at home alone watching Season 14 of Grey's Anatomy on Netflix. No wonder I wake up sobbing most days.