Friars Hill Traffic Report: Let’s do lunch

142

Want to get lunch sometime?

Lol. Who am I kidding?

A girlfriend texted me last Saturday night:

“Let’s plan a face to face this week,” she wrote.

“I’m free any evening this week except Wednesday,” I lied.

“Let’s do Monday evening,” she wrote.

“Okay!” I wrote, quickly hitting Send.

“Never mind,” I immediately texted. “I have a White Sulphur Springs City Council meeting.”

“Let’s do 5 on Tuesday then,” she wrote.

“Perfect,” I replied. “I’m available from 5-5:15 or after 9 p.m.”

We squeezed in a lunch date on Wednesday from 1:10-1:35 p.m.

On Wednesday evening, I received an email to send in a $70 check to my younger daughter’s school for an upcoming class trip I’m chaperoning to Tennessee. I also received texts confirming game times for a soccer tournament in Blacksburg the weekend before the Tennessee trip. Earlier this week, on Monday morning, I waited in line for two hours to purchase tickets to my older daughter’s dance recital, which will be held in Lewisburg two days after I return from Tennessee.

The first week of June, the younger goes to camp, and the week after that, my older one does.

Why can’t they be gone the same week?

And here’s the thing: all I want to do is go see Kings of Leon this Sunday in Columbia, MD.

The weekend before last, I was in Bethesda, MD, at a dance competition. Upon returning home, I worked for two days before heading back up to Baltimore to fly to Portland, Oregon, to my brother’s wedding. (They’re making a movie about it: it’s called “The 40-Year-Old Bridesmaid.” It’ll be just as funny as “The 40-Year-Old Virgin,” but with the waxing scene featuring my upper lip rather than Steve Carrell’s chest.)

Anyway, a week later, after flying back across the United States, I drove home from Baltimore and immediately headed back to my daughter’s dance studio, where she was getting her spring portraits taken.

So, you can imagine my husband’s reaction when I told him I wanted to go back to the D.C. area this Sunday to go to a concert. Reader, he ignored me.

Nevertheless, I persisted.

He said, “Well, I guess D.C. is the new Beckley,” meaning my weekend excursions are getting a bit more far flung these days.

“We could do it!” I said. “They’re playing a festival. They play at 1:30 in the afternoon. We drive up Sunday morning, rock out, boom boom boom, then head home Sunday evening. Oh, and also, I gotta go to Roanoke Saturday to get new pointe shoes for Older Daughter and new tennis shoes for Younger Daughter.”

At that point he simply strapped on his CPAP mask and rolled over in bed, facing away from me.

“Whatever you say, Captain,” he said through the mask.

Tonight, I texted one of my closest friends. She also has two kids, and works in a gallery, so the only way I can spend any time with her is to go to her store and try on jewelry.

“I miss you,” I texted. “Let’s have a date. I’m free any time after June 2025.”

“I’ll be here,” she replied. “Just let me know when you’re free.”

I’m making a dinner reservation right now.