I’ve been known to drink a beer or two (or eight) every now and then.* I love beer and I love wine. I even love some mixed drinks, but they don’t so much love me.
This is not my point. What I was going to say is that I come by it honestly. My mother’s entire family are pretty solid drinkers. This tends to get me in trouble when I hang out with my cousins.
So one night I was drinking (heavily) with my cousins and we had to get up early the next morning. We had a pre-wedding get together. I wasn’t hungover exactly, but I certainly wasn’t at me best. When we got to the shower the hostess offered us a mimosa. Not to be the type of person to turn down such an offer I accepted.
Here is the thing with champagne in the morning after a long night of drinking: after about a half a glass I was buzzed again.
I need to give you this back story to justify my behavior.
This was the first time I had been to the house of these people. They are very nice upstanding people. The bride’s whole side of the family are lovely upstanding Christian people. Our side, not as much.***
I hope you understand that I have been forthcoming that I possess the maturity of a 12 year old boy when I tell you that when I saw this plaque hanging by their garage door I laughed until I was doubled over and crying.
It was the kind of laughter where no actual sound was coming out.
That is when my Dad walked into the kitchen.
I think he thought there was something wrong with me. Probably because I was weeping and gasping. When he asked me what was the matter all I could do was point was point and wheeze.
I believe his exact words were “Nice, Sarah”.
My parents are very proud of me.
Fast forward about ten years. I am actually a grown up with my own house and children and a job and everything. I had just successfully convinced my kids to clean their rooms. I was feeling pretty good. My deadlines had been met, the house was clean (ish) and I was ready for my evening fantasy football draft and neighborhood birthday party. Then I heard knocking.
I went downstairs to the front door.
Nobody was there.
Yet, still there was knocking, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
I found the kids. They weren’t hitting anything. The cats were sleeping. I was starting to feel crazy and I asked the kids if they heard knocking.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered.
And then I looked out my back door and it was no bird. It was my new neighbor. She is going into Kindergarten this week just like The Goon Squad and she was coming over to play.
About ten minutes later there was another knock, and this time I was prepared and I went to the kitchen door first.
It was the new neighbor mom and she was looking for her daughter.
I think I actually have my own back door friends.
And now I understand the sign.**
Back door friends really are best. I think it is the idea that there are no formalities.
Then my new neighbor brought me a beer. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
*In fact I once had a friend nickname me “Tip ‘Em Back Sarah”. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?
** Not to infer that I really thought these people were advertising sodomy.
Also their sign said “Back door friends are the best kind” but I couldn’t find an image of one with the exact wording.
*** It was the same day my cousin set something on fire while changing a baby’s diaper and my Aunt said something about being a non-practicing Agnostic just as the minister walked around the corner.