butchiesmom

“Pity party. Party of one. I have a table ready for the Pity party,” the hostess announced. “Is there anyone here by that name?”

Feeling and looking like a banged up thumb on a manicured hand, I finally stood. The crowd parted to make a clear path for my walker like a runway for me to prance. This was no beauty pageant, it was my life and I was having a pity party at an imaginary restaurant.

Since this was my dream, it was one of those 4-star restaurants, where they serve a bit of art on a plate and charge $50. The restaurant was full, of course, all the good ones usually are. My pajamas turned into an elegant, designer dress with the prerequisite accessories and designer shoes with four-inch heels.

Damned shoes are pinching, I thought. “Why’d I pick this restaurant for my party?” I must’ve spoken the last thought because the hostess turned around and with the strangest look on her face. “I haven’t the slightest idea why,” she said, “You might want to consider hiding the tag on the dress and try not scuffing the soles of those shoes if you’re returning them for a refund!”

Good grief! She was right! “Damned dress didn’t fit right anyway, too tight across the hips and bust,” I muttered, “Serves me right for not trying it on before I lifted it.”

The pretty, young hostess with a sweet voice and great body said, “Walk this way, Ms Party.” All the cartoons, movies and comedy acts with that line came to mind, but she had too much swing on that back porch for me to imitate it, so I plodded on behind her.

Did I mention this pretty, young, well built, sweet b**ch had been caught by me in a hotel room with my husband! Enough said!

The table was in the middle of the dining room, set for six people. The hostess made a show out of taking away the extra settings and handed me a menu. “The special for today is sobbing casserole served with delicate red eyes with a side of runny nose,” she announced, “Your waitress will be Tracey. She’ll be with you shortly.”

How long is shortly? Is it a few minutes while she takes the order of another table in her already crowded area, or is it the time ice water warm up kind of shortly? The latter is the proper definition because it took 15 minutes for her to reach my table.

“My name’s Tracy, she said, “What can I get you to drink?

"A cup of tea would be fine", I said.

After writing on her pad, she turned and left. Soon she was back with the tea.

Will the rest of your table arrive soon?” she inquired.

“No, it’s just me tonight,” I replied.

Already in a bad mood with complaining customers and lousy tips, her voice went up a few decibels as she complained. “I don’t know why they left the rest of the settings on the table when only one’s eating.” She said, “Why didn’t she put you at a smaller table?”


“Why didn’t she put you at one of the smaller tables or a booth?” the waitress complained. “We need this table for a large party arriving soon.”

Again, I digress.

Tracy, the grumpy waitress, picked up my place setting, including that blasted glass of warm water and moved me to a small booth. Small is a generous description of that booth. Only one person could fit in it, sideways, knees under the chin. Though I really would’ve appreciated a slightly larger booth, I manage quite easily to fit into that cozy niche.

“I gotta reset that table, the party’s been waiting for it.” She groused, “If you’re not ready to order it’s going to take another half-hour for me to get back to you”

“Isn’t there someone who could take my order?” I pled.

“Look Mz. Pity, you’ve already been flagged as a trouble maker so I’d watch my step if I were you!” With that warning, she turned from my astonished expression, (What did I do?”) and returned to the party table.

That was more than I could endure, considering my bad day. Everything had gone wrong from the start of the day and now this. Unbidden tears welled up in my eyes. Though I tried to stop them, they soon overflowed their well and coursed down to my chin, dripping on my knees like a leaky faucet.

Soon the tears were joined with sobs, each one increasing in volume. Bawling replaced the sobs, no longer loud enough to announce my distress to the rest of the dining room. I saw Tracey, the b**chy waitress gesture to the perky, well-built little home wreaker who picked up her cell phone, said something in it then started toward me. Two burly, uniformed guards waddled behind her and I knew I wouldn’t be coming back to this place. That long list of restaurants just grew by one.


The guards, my cousin, Joe, and my brother, Bubba, managed to reach in and pull me out of that booth. I should’ve been a lot nicer to those two when we were younger. Pavement is hard!

I woke, just before my tender, bonny butt hit the pavement. The dream had ended, but the crying continued. My erstwhile husband had to go to work in a few hours.

“What’s going on,” he asked.

Since neither one of us had thought to turn on a lamp beside the bed, it was dark, my expression hidden. Nevertheless, a bawling woman dripping tears on his chest should’ve been an clear indication of the state of my emotions.

“I don’t know, I woke up this way!” I managed to get out between sobs. “I can’t stop crying, and I don’t know why!”

Concerned about my crying and the fact it was robbing him of precious rest, he patted my back and lovingly suggested I carry my emotions out of the bedroom so he could sleep.

With more fuel added to the fiery melee which was my emotional state, I slammed the door shut. My nose already running, I grabbed the tissue box. The shaking walls of the trailer were a satisfactory indication of my displeasure with him, I would deal with that later.

By now, my nose was stuffed, my eyes were burning, and I couldn’t stop the loud sobs. Thinking of my husband’s sympathy and of all the really rotten things I’d been through lately didn’t help. I sat sideways in the recliner; its slight rocking movements were as comforting as the slight movement of a porch swing on a sunny day. I cried because I had lost so much weight I could sit that way in the recliner and couldn’t enjoy it because I was crying.

Then a long standing barrier or perhaps a force field, let go inside me. Whatever it was, five years of pent-up emotions threatened to overwhelm me as it washed away the last vestiges of a deep, dark depression..

The grief I l didn’t feel as I gazed upon the sweet face of my first grandson before the lid of his tiny coffin closed, was there. The pain I should’ve felt and the astonished disbelief, at the death of little 3 month old Michael, painfully surfaced. The worst pain was the one I should’ve felt when I heard my daughter cry out, “I want my baby!” at his graveside. Even now, tears threaten when I remember the anguish in my daughter’s voice and how we had to hold her back and take her to the car.

I couldn’t find the feeling of loss and, compassion for my mother-in-law and her four children as we stood by my father-in-law’s casket. As we stood in line for three days greeting those who wanted to view her husband, and their father, I searched for the grief I felt should be there, but concern for my husband’s grief was all I felt.
Tears and sobbing as I thought of the words the neurologist used to tell me I had early Parkinson’s Disease. The shock of the diagnosis, the fear when I found there was no cure from the information I gathered together, my thoughts were constantly of the diagnosis and how it could be wrong.

That night, all the emotions my mixed up brain had held in check for over five years, were finally free and I cried until there were no more tears to be had. I cried, dry-eyed, the tears drying on my face and my nosed so stuffed I couldn’t breathe until blessed sleep finally overcame me. I woke a few hours later, feeling lighter, with hidden emotions no longer weighing me down. Every emotion I should’ve experienced was there for me to examine and stow away.

It was the worst and the best pity party I had ever thrown. I think there’s another scheduled soon. I’ll be printing invitations for it soon . Don’t bother knocking on the door, come on in. Take your shoes off before you step on the carpet! Grab a chair, sit on the floor, and do whatever it takes to make you comfortable and party!

Bear

very interesting penning Gail love the restaurant image very witty and well written
hugs kisses
tom

butchiesmom

Thank you, Bear! For some reason, it went there first so I just tagged along hoping it would go my way eventually.
I love the restaurant part myself, lol. The second part was extremely difficult to write.
Gail

Bear

I understand that Gail having lived that type of life for a long time being alone that is never pitied myself. And working in a restaurant for over 20yrs I have seen that alot the sad part is other people making fun of them.
hugs kisses
BEAR

butchiesmom

I've lived both the married and divorced life and prefer married. One wonders why a person decides to come in alone. It doesn't matter why the person is eating alone, but it seems (I noticed it myself) that person could be under a spotlight so many diners are watching that person.
Gail