Friday Night's All Right

I am a woman who is loose.

No, not a LOOSE WOMAN. Get real.

I have the whole evening to myself, by myself. I can paint the town red if I want to, or green or pink or blue. So I have chosen to eat my lovely Chopped Cobb Salad in relative peace and quiet here at the lovely Panera Bread close to my home.

And don't tell anyone, but I splurged and got a decaf cappuccino to go with it.

The whole restaurant was my oyster, figuratively speaking, until just a moment ago. I had an entire section of seating all to myself. I was in my element.

Then the people came.

(Heavy sighing should be inserted here.)

And with the people came multitudes, yea verily, of children under the age of five. And with those multitudes came parents. And noise and cell phones ringing and parents talking on the cell phones covered the face of the restaurant instead of gentle jazz music.

And lo, the cuteness of those children did abound and I found myself in a quandary. Whether to eyeball said imps and eavesdrop on their cute little conversations, or to write? After all, I owe my Vast Readership a blog post since I've been here infrequently the past few days.

(Thank you, Debbie.)

However, it is impossible for me to both write and listen to conversation. It is impossible for me to listen to a book on my MP3 player and write. It is impossible for me to listen to music WITH LYRICS and write.

It is impossible for me to chew gum and write at the same time.

Because multitasking and coordination are not my middle names. I don't even think they were considered, more's the pity.

At the moment the boy child and the girl child are both being taken to the potty. I know this because I overheard the father of the boy child ask him if he needed to go as I eavesdropped on their cute conversation. Not three minutes later, the mother of the girl child asked her spawn the self-same question.

(And now I think *I* have to go potty. Obviously it's the power of suggestion. And the fact that I just downed what amounts to a cereal bowl full of coffee.)

But let's face facts, shall we? I'm old. My idea of "partying" has evolved from bar hopping and staying out late to this; dinner out by myself with peace and quiet and no one expecting me to cook and a lovely little laptop by my side. And after this I will most likely go home, get my jammies on, and crawl into bed at some hour of the evening when I would just be starting to get down and funky if I were young.

(And you may quote me on the getting down and funky. After all, I was of That Era. And still am.)

The girl child is off to the bathroom again, accompanied by her mother. Her father is still at the table and has mercifully ceased his cell phone conversation. The boy child's family left soon after he returned to his seat. I'm back to enjoying the music and the quiet.

It's a party of one.