A true Story

My daughter is a very social girl and is always being invited to parties. This week, she’s invited to this girl’s birthday party, that girl’s Summer cookout, and another girl’s sleepover. The trouble is, we don’t find out about a Friday-night-to-Saturday-morning sleepover until after school late on the Friday of. Then it’s, “You didn’t get me a present to take to the party? Yes, I did, I told you two weeks ago that Vicky’s birthday was sometime this month, and she said she was going to invite me if she had a party…” Somehow, there is special coding in the previous sentence that translates to “I’d like to attend Vicky’s slumber party on the 15th starting at six o’clock Friday evening and ending around 9:00 Saturday morning.”

   Regardless, this was one of those days. Except it was a day party on a Sunday. We darted out of the church house as soon as the last note was sung, had to run to Wal Mart and purchase a present, wrap it with tape and tissue paper purchased at the Dollar Store, get Rachael to sign a Drug Store birthday card, and deliver our daughter with a wrapped present and card to the door of her friend’s house, hopefully before noon.

   We barely made it. We told Rachael we would pick her up 7:00 p.m. before the evening service at church.

   The weather turned off bad that evening. It got cold and dark, and started to rain. My wife pulled in the driveway and instructed me to go in and get our daughter. I dashed through the rain and rang the doorbell. The man of the house answered the door.

“Hello, can I help you?” he said.

I said, “I’m here to pick up Rachael.”

“Oh, okay” he said, and he looked a little disappointed. “She’s in the kitchen,” he told me.

“Rachael,” he called, “There’s a man here to pick you up.” Then to me, “She’ll be right out.”

So I stood there, exchanging pleasantries with the man; Where do you work? Have you lived here long? How many children do you have? That kind of chatter. Eventually, a nice-looking lady with long black hair came out of the kitchen and asked me, “Who are you, again and where are you taking me?”

I clarified, “I’m here to pick up Rachael.”

“Yes, I’m Rachel,” she said. And the man added, “my wife, Rachel.”

“I’m here for my daughter, Rachael.” They both looked confused.

“She’s supposed to be at a party at Anna’s?” I added.

“Oh, Anna lives next door!” they said with a huge sigh of relief. We all shared an embarrassing laugh. I apologized for the inconvenience I had done them, and bid them good night.

However, I thought I heard him say as he shut the door behind me, “So, is there something we need to talk about?”