I know I’m definitely coming out of a bad patch when I start enjoying parties again.

I’ve always been a poor fan of large groups of people; I prefer intimate gatherings. Lately, though, I’ve not been bothered by being in public places, which usually include crowds and noise. And last night, I was at a party which I absolutely loved. As a rule, I also dislike arriving late, because it means that a whole ton of people turn around and fall on me at once with hellos and hugs. Last night, what with the husband arriving home at 6.30, picking up groceries, stopping by the SAQ, and then going across town to pick up a spare key from a friend, we arrived not only fashionably late, but so late that it was hard to see people in the backyard as we tried to barbecue chicken over rapidly failing coals. But I loved it anyway.

It might have had something to do with the fact that I saw about ten people I hadn’t seen in a year or more, and one or two that I hadn’t seen in a few months. It also might have had something to do with the fact that I saw people I see frequently (whose company I enjoy, hence the frequency). The grilled chicken salad we created was pretty darned amazing. My Smirnoff Ice was unchilled but I didn’t care.

Darn it all, I was just in a really good mood. And I was enjoying the good mood; part of me saw what was going on and rather than saying, “You know, this probably isn’t a good idea for the following reasons”, it said, “Aw, heck, you just have fun. Stop censoring; stop worrying what people think.” (Sage advice from someone I respect. It worked perfectly last night.) As a result, I think I was probably more positive and more open to laughing and being relaxed than I have been in a very long time. I’m usually so serious; last night, I most definitely was not.

Not only that, but I was actually disappointed when my husband walked up to me and said, “I have to go home; I’m working tomorrow.” If I don’t want to leave, that’s a certain sign of having a very good time.

The only iffy spot was, once again, being pegged as an experienced Pagan and being approached by a couple of eager novices for advice in a sticky situation. To protect me from similar future situations where I’m too polite to walk away, I have been given a code word (which I am not sharing here!) so that a handful of people will know to rescue me by removing me bodily from the conversation. Even that discussion, though, had a good side: it proved to me that I can speak excellent French even while drinking my second terribly yummy Smirnoff Ice. Go me!