An After Party With You, Dear Reader

What’s that soft sound, you ask? It is the heavy, deep breaths of a sleeping dog. He is sleeping like the world turned to madness and it had been his mission all day to try to return order. There is the glimmer of something reflecting in the glass door, and I just spent five minutes trying to figure out what is causing it without actually having to get off the couch. Welcome to my after party, dear reader.

I love a good after party. Streamers are still tangled from the chandelier over to all adjacent structures like a pink and purple giant spider web. All the lights are off in the house, except for that chandelier. It sort of looks like a disco ball to me, at the moment. It looks festive here still, and sort of enticing, like I might want to keep this party going for a while yet—a party of two. I should pour us some wine and get this party started! But that would involve moving. Bad idea.

Fetching a wine glass would also be a bad idea. That would mean I would have to go in the kitchen and look at the dirty dishes piled up. You weren’t planning to stay for breakfast, were you? Because there definitely is not a clean fork in the house to eat breakfast with, but forks are overrated. A good spoon is far more respectable, and the silverware drawer has about twenty-five clean ones of those. This is an after party—it is a time to reflect on how much fun the party is/was—and dirty dishes are the physical manifestation of all that fun. You know, because eating and drinking usually results in fun. And fun is fun. Let’s not argue about this.

I love a good after party. I get to sit here on the couch and look at how clean my house is underneath all the mess. Because it was expertly clean prior to the party in preparation for the party, for the purpose of the party messing it up. Look at that floor shine underneath the sand and scattered leaves. It is pretty, isn’t it? That was a lovely compliment—I just might invite you to my next after party.

Are you hungry? I am. There is half a cake sitting on the dining room table. We could devour that thing, you and I. There are no forks though. Forks are overrated. Spoons are best. Sporks might be better, but I’ve never seen a metal spork. You have? Really? Interesting. Wait, I am getting off topic. Damn, I am tired. So should we go get that cake? That would involve moving. Still a bad idea.

This is a great after party, over here on this desert island of a couch we are stranded on. Maybe next time I could plan better, like plan on bringing the cake here before collapsing. Remind me, please. I struggle with after party planning.

Thanks for coming, dear reader. Next time you bring the wine.