A Change of Plans

I packed up the kids and drove them up to Boston this morning for a visit with Granny and Grandad. We had already arranged babysitting for the kids tonight, as we had tickets for a fundraising gala this evening, but my sainted mother-in-law suggested that I bring the kids up and let them stay overnight instead. She offered to keep them from Friday to Sunday, but I decided to go up Saturday morning. I already had a service appointment scheduled for my car yesterday, and I *really* didn't want to deal with Friday rush-hour traffic into Boston, then out of Boston and then hit bridge traffic to the Cape. I got the kiddles up this morning, and traffic was horrible anyway. It took me almost 2 hours to get up there. I was planning on stopping on the way home to look for shoes to wear to this event. The invitation recommends that, because this thing is held on a historic farm, you need to wear footwear suitable for walking on unpaved paths, and fields, and god knows what. It is a fairly formal event, though, and I can't think why, but I just don't have a lot of formal-yet-farm-suitable footwear. I dropped (the kids), shopped (got some shoes), and then hopped (back in the car). And there I sat, in more traffic. It SUCKED! When I finally did get home, around 4 p.m., I came in and showed Dr. V. what I bought and said, "O.K., I'm going to go start getting ready." Dr. V. looked at me with a strange expression on his face, and then suggested that we blow off the fundraiser. This made me, uhm... a wee bit angry. I had just spent the day driving in hellish traffic and trying to pull together a dressy outfit suitable for both farm-walking and society-impressing, and now - a scant 2 hours before the stupid event starts - he just wants to go to dinner and a movie? I told him that he was pissing me off, and why. We'd spent a LOT of money on these tickets after getting a personal note from the organizing committee. We made the decision to go after he said he really wanted to make an appearance, since it is a hospital fundraiser, and politics, and community involvement, blah blah blah. And there are a bazillion things I would rather do than sit in traffic and/or shop, like paint the bathroom or work on my jewelry or whatever. I went and laid down on the bed and felt mad at him and sorry for myself and fell asleep for 20 minutes. After I woke up, I had gotten over my snit. I looked up some movie times and went out and sat on the front steps while he was working in the yard. He came over, looked up at me, and said, "I'm sorry, but I really don't feel like socializing tonight. This has been a terrible week. I've given out nothing but bad news, and I feel like the Angel of Death." Which, you know, I get. I knew he was having a terrible week, because every night he'd come home and say, "I had a terrible day. Why won't these people stop dying?" I told him I was only mad because if he'd had an inkling that maybe he didn't want to go, he could have shared that with me earlier and I would have spent the day differently. Our new plan is to go see "Talladega Nights" after a nice dinner. They were showing an SNL repeat on TV last night with Will Ferrell as host. They did a "Jeopardy" sketch, and those things just kill me. After seeing that, I know I have to go dig out my rescue inhaler, because I have a suspicion I may be laughing rather hard this evening and may very well have an asthma attack. Call me crazy, but doesn't that sound like more fun than drinking cocktails under the stars and mingling with Very Important People and trying not to step in anything farm-related?