Traditions, impulses and high drama.

I was thoroughly enjoying Jenn's post about her family's tradition (read it here), when I remembered a tradition that was employed by me, my ex and two of our friends.  This would be, oh, four lifetimes ago.  I had been talked into going to a bowling party with my ex and a couple who were total party animals.   **Aside here - I am and always have been, totally, completely and breathtakingly uncoordinated **  After a couple of adult beverages for courage, I threw caution to the wind and the bowling ball in the gutter every.single.time.  In honor of this all-time low score for an adult in this particular bowling alley, I won a bottle of Cold Duck.  What is Cold Duck?  Something fizzy, alcoholic and gawd-awful sweet.  I accepted the award with aplomb, if I do say so myself, and trotted home with my prize.  I then conspired to 'regift' it to this couple (who had needled me unmercifully) at the earliest opportunity.  Therein started a tradition where, every time we visited each other's home, we secreted the bottle like buried treasure.  It got so bad that we would frisk each other before entry.  I remember one more spectacular evening when I tied a cord around the neck of the bottle, hung it outside of their first floor bathroom window, guilelessly entered their front door 'clean', and retrieved it after an appropriate period of time.  It took weeks for them to recover from finding it bobbing in their bathtub.  If I remember right, it was broken during one more adventurous episode and the tradition came to an end.  As a matter of fact, so did my marriage and the friendship, but that was completely unrelated.  I think.


*****
I am a totally impulsive person.  While this was rather adorable when I was a tot, it became less adorable as I got older and was no end of trouble through my teens and twenties.  As I have gotten older, I am both impulsive and afflicted with AAAD.  (Acquired Adult Attention Disorder.  If this is not a thing, it is now.)


Ergo:


I couldn't resist.

My justification - there is always justification - is that I am hosting a family Halloweenish party and it will add un petit quelquechose, a little something to the occasion.  AND it can shine during Cinco de Mayo!  AND I love the color orange!  AND it's a plant!


*****
The Butter Pat was trundled, once again, to the vet for a further shortening of his talons.  I disguised a sedative in his special cheese, then schlepped up the half-hour to the vet.  I'm sure I have mentioned this ad nauseum, but I love my vet - both the founder and all the young women vets.  And all the techs.  It is usually loud and boisterous when we arrive, but it was rather muted yesterday.  I handed off the slightly limp and fleece-jacketed form of the Pat to Dr. Cici and Nancy the Tech and waited in the lobby for the ensuing screams.  Luckily, there was only one half-hearted scream and that was all drama.  This also allows me to act like a complete nut job with any and all waiting patients and their patient parents.  When Dr. Cici and Dr. Hannah and Nancy came out with Mr. Drama, they thanked me for bringing him because they love him and he was just what they needed.  They had had an emergency that didn't turn out well and they were all feeling the pain and sadness.  Then they didn't charge me.  I took Mr. Happy home, wrapped him in more fleece and let him sleep it off.