Me, At A Party, Sort Of

So, I've told you how I drive my car in the snow. I am darn good at that. I know all the tricks of the trade. For example, shift into neutral if you're trying to stop and you start to slide ominously close to the rear end of the car in front of you. The wheels will stop turning and believe it or not you will stop. Note: this trick does not always work with 100% success; once I had to shift into neutral and steer into a snowbank on the curb to avoid rearending someone. Not to digress. Okay, wait for it . . . I have never told you about how I am at a party.

I don't really go to parties. That's probably the main reason I don't talk about going to parties. Did you know that in my entire college career I never attended a party? Did you further know that I have never been intoxicated from alcohol use? Did you further know that one of my friends used to tell me I had obviously escaped from a nursing home and had some really good plastic surgery done to make myself look younger? Okay, so, one of those lines is only half true, but I'm not going to tell you which one. Suffice it to say if you ever find me at a party I will have to put the blame on quantum tunneling. I would never knowingly go into a situation like that.

So, I was going to say, since I am a social oddity I don't do too well at large events with lots of people. Recently, I attended a church picnic with my husband. It was fun until I decided to tell a joke. Our new vicar from church was leading a short devotional to close the evening's festivities. He asked a simple question: "What is the meaning of life?" I responded by shouting -- twice, because nobody got it the first time -- "42!" Of course, nobody got it the second time either. Then one person started laughing and confirmed that no, Esther is not crazy, she's just the queen of obscure references.

Boy, I felt stupid. Yeah, I'm here all week. I don't even need alcohol to make jokes like that.