The Anti-Socialite of Hogwaller

My Prince hath come!

Eyeball deep in people, I thought I would bemoan another. I'm not much for crowds...unless they're my crowd. And well, I haven't had many crowds of my very own since I moved to Missouri. Call me an anti-socialite. That's a retired socialite in hiding. Can you think of a better place to disappear than in the country...in A Country with all the pretentious entrapments imaginable being beamed into your very own satellite dish? Only in America. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I understand why, as a soul awaiting birth, I might have chosen this particular life. Television, the internet...and best of all...household appliances. Even They can be beamed in if you have a cap-less Visa.

We've come a long way since the indispensable P-32 was invented.

Yesser folks,
It slices,
it dices,
it can even remove a gall bladder in a pinch!
The A-mazing, Army issue, one each, P-32!

I carried one for years, then I discovered fire and the P-32 retired to the kitchen junk drawer to live out it's remaining days waiting for Godot.



We, the higher echelon of the hog farming community, were crouched amid playing cards, and stifling curses in the middle of the living room floor, when a vehicle pulled into the drive. The distinct pitch of gravel on gravel announced the arrival. Before I could feign an unfortunate play, leaving my cards to Valhalla, the back door creaked it's introduction. The sound of small feet doing double-time measured a 2.5 on the Richter Scale as they made their way through the tiny farm house.

Grandma!Awe...you're a princess. He stroked my face and leaned in for a long overdue meeting in Xanadu.

And you're my prince!

You're so beautiful. He let the words escape in a seductive exhale as he scaled my bean stalks and melted around my neck like a sable wrap.

The love of my life had been gone so long. His mother has a tendency to up and move without notice, and she did, a few months back. No phone call, nothing. I'm forced into the waiting game and it's never easy. What is easy, is loving the little charmers she gave birth to.



Since my pre-technology days when a can opener the size of a Lima Bean was thought impressive, Troglodytes were The Cool People, and raw fish was considered a delicacy, I have evolved into this big gooshy Grandma thing. More complicated than solid state circuitry, more intense than a microwave burst, more powerful than a plutonium Visa card, and more pliable than silly putty in the hands of a five year old, than anything the copious convocation of the Sci-fi community could collectively conceive. That's what love can do.

Gee, just think, if my daughter could have kept her feet on the floor I may never have met my Prince, fallen in love, or ceased consumption of uncooked sea life.

11/30/2005 4:27 PM
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