3. Wheaten Petnik

Dogs for Obama wheaten petnic bound,  I drove down Meridien and according to mapquest, the house was the third one in on the right,  Nope, this was not it. There was no fenced yard. I realized I had forgotten to  bring the address.  I drove around, looking for a wheaten flag on a mailbox.  Luckily I had my phone and remembered the host’s name, and I found that the house  was across the street,  a non descript tiny house with a wheaten flag where I couldn’t have seen it.  There were no cars around and no noise.  I peeked at the yard.  “Hello?:  I said, thinking I had gotten the day wrong.  One wheaten greeted us at the fence, then the host arrived,  “Hello there, ” said Robert.  “We’re around back.”
To my complete dismay, this “fundraising wheaten party” was five people in lawn chairs sitting in a circle at the center of which stood a small table with some cheap supermarket deviled eggs and some veggies.  This obviously wasn’t a dieting challenge.  Not the barbque with potato salad I was going to cheat on,  I was the only one dressed in “party wear” and the only Martha Stewart who bought a $28 raspberry rhubarb pie I had ordered in advance,
“From  Macrina!”  They said excitedly.  A hummingbird on the honeysuckle momentarily distracted us.
Shortly thereafter I became the loud person dominating the conversation with all my tales of wheatens.  People stopped listening and changed the conversation to biking and jazz music. As usual, the oohs and ahhs at my assertion that I had a Ph.d. in drama led to silence without questions.  I had spent five grueling years getting the damn thing and it didn’t make me a party favor.
The only brilliant moment was the exquisite taste of the pie, with it’s sugar coated checkered top.  Macrina had outdone itself.
The three women didn’t eat it.
Ariel was in heaven.  The dogs were served chicken and cheese, unlike the humans, and peed all over the vegetable garden, also unlike the humans.
You have to understand–I am used to big bash birthday wheaten parties at Marymoor park with a huge spread and a cake for dogs, along with gift bags, and the likes of Gerard Shwarz and Speight Jenkings there to talk to.
so you can imagine my bafflement and disappointment.
“I recorded Obama’s speech when he was the keynote speaker at the democratic convention.  I thought we could all come in and watch it.”
I remembered parts of the speech.  “I want to live in a country where a black boy can read a book and not be told that’s a white thing.”  It was so moving and Obama is such a great orator that I got tears in my eyes.
“I’d like the checks made out to Obama for America” the host demanded.  I was expecting something more subdued.
“Have you reached your limit?  I’m always afraid of doing that.”  No, I had not already spent $4,200.
We took the yearly photo and looked admiringly at the photo of a past party with 80 people, then quickly went home.
Oh my God, I thought, they’re keeping the pie.  Josh had wanted a piece, and was mad that I gave away the pie, though his suggestion that I cut out a piece of it before bringing it, I had to explain, was not pie etiquiette.-k

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Filed under humor, memoir

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