It is an utter waste of time if you ask me. People dressed up as clowns, parading around talking nonsense for what? I’d much rather spend my evening sitting on my sofa, enjoying a good movie, some comfort food and myself. Yes, that’s right, no company necessary.
Every year, the same thing happens, no changes, the same crowd, the same type of music, and, yes, the same location. Maybe if they had had it in a different section of the vineyard, since they are trying to be cost-effective, I’d have considered it, but not in that garden with the smell of freshly cut grass that causes my nose to cry for help and my eyes to squint as a result of the burning sensation. As if that was not enough excitement, you have to stay on guard when standing by the vine-covered lattes that bumblebees seem to find haven in. If by any means, you forget your place, you will surely get a reminder from a sting. I recall clearly the year that Mr Vanderburge had to be rushed to ICU. He stood too close to the bees; they apparently felt threatened, and bam, he was hit. He wailed. His tongue got heavy. He could hardly speak. His skin was almost immediately covered in wale-like rashes. It was truly a sad night. He didn’t know he was allergic to bee stings until then. Luckily, the hospital was close by, or maybe we would have lost him. I’d think that would have been the perfect alibi to change the location, but alas, here we are again, one more year.
Am I the only one who has issues with this thing? This is a jejune event that everyone in my household and community seems to be delighted about. I mean, these attendees are such pretenders. They come all decked out in fine linen, bringing all sorts of sweet bites and tiny cakes that they bought in a pastry shop, pretending it was their doing. Such hypocrisy and foolery. Then those who see right through their fabrications whisper to each other and snicker. Mind you, those whispering do the same or even worse at times, but who will tell, right? Such a waste of a good evening, one that I can honestly do without, since I am a woman of integrity.
Can I vent about the music? I promise you, the use of instrumentals dates back to the early 1800s. I’m not lying, I’m being truthful. The music is so outdated that even the seniors complain, and that still did not bring about a change. They can go to YouTube and find some nice modern instrumental music, like violin music, I would gladly do it for them if they asked. I know I could volunteer, but I don’t want to be rejected since their planning committee is a group of know-it-alls with more degrees than a thermometer, and I only have one. It wouldn’t hurt if they did something to the music, though. I’m sure they would get better support than just the same set of people, their families, neighbours, and a wider cross-section of age and class. With the bee issue and all, I'd probably get some of my colleagues to attend. As it is now, I don’t even want to be caught on camera standing at the entrance. This is just a small town chin ding, and it's clear that only the residents have it listed on their calendar.
Then again, what am I even going to wear? I forgot all about it, and I didn’t buy an outfit when I travelled, and all I found in the stores today were rejects. Outfits left behind by the attendees. What should I do? Oh, woe is me! Maybe that could be a great cop-out. That’s a brilliant idea, as long as Mama doesn’t get wind of it. She shoots down anything or any plan that goes against her attending this event. I mean, really shoots it down, shotgun and all. I remember one year, there was an attack of birds, and it was about to cause the cancellation of her precious, so she called for the town to have a bird shooting competition to eliminate the problem. Did it work? Did the people buy into the idea? Yes, they did. Men and women alike came out in their numbers, and the competition began and ended with a bang. I never saw anything of its kind to ever occur again. Weird, right? But let me tell you, stranger things have happened in this place, but that’s for another time. Right now, I need to figure out a plan to not attend this nightmare of an event.
I could maybe pretend to have a horrible headache, but nope, that wouldn’t work. Mama would snuff me out like a hound dog. I could probably get dressed, spill something on my clothes, and then claim that I don't have anything else to wear. Naah, the last time something like that happened, the selected replacement was suicidal. OK, let me tell you, my sister tried it, and it was a good plan too. She got dressed, drank pop, and burst out laughing at a joke she made up, spitting the pop all over her dress. Mama gave her one of her dresses from her younger years. It was nicely tucked away in the cellar, so it not only looked old, but it smelled like it was forty years old. There was no time to have it laundered, so it had to go as is. That was the last time that stunt was pulled. My sister never forgot, nor did her school friends or those at her school who were updated by those in attendance. So I won’t be trying that as old as I am. As a matter of fact, it might just be the day that the town papers or local TV stations show up.
I am out of ideas and out of an escape, so I guess I just need to decide in my mind to attend this function. All my excuses make no sense; they will not work out unless God wants to send a deluge even now to wash it all out. I still have two hours to go, and I’m sure God can answer my prayers for once since I don’t ask for much. Every year, all roads lead to McGregors’ Vineyards for the biggest tea party of the year in aid of the town's beautification. Whoopee, you guessed it. I hate going, and like all the other times, I don’t want to go. Wait a minute, was that a drop of rain? Let me check if the sprinkler went on in error. It can’t be, can it really rain? Yes, rain, rain, rain. My hopes are high. If it rains, then it has to be cancelled because outdoors at the vineyards is a mess when it rains. Please rain, don’t stop, don’t stop, save me from the worst evening ever. This rain is a clear indication that He still reigns. Thank you, Lord!