Playtime
Last night one of Tin’s favorite babysitters came to watch him while we went to a dinner party. She was still enthusiastic about a game that her friend had put together last weekend, where she and her friends spent four hours going from thing to thing they had to do – making a stranger brush your teeth, walking someone’s dog, and all sorts of (for a teen) outlandish things. Listening to her excitement just made you smile.
We, on the other hand, were on our way to a dinner party. Earlier a friend had called and asked what we were up to and I told her and she said, ‘That sounds so wonderful to go sit at someone’s house and have them serve you dinner and meet new people.” Really? I thought. Is this play for adults?
Dinner parties are fun and we were headed to a friend’s house who is a particularly wonderful and warm hostess and we were meeting new people, and the conversation was lively spanning politics to culture. But when I got home and climbed into bed after a little too much red wine and dessert (I made Bananas Foster), I did not feel as enthusiastic about the event as our babysitter had been when she described hers.
Then again, if someone told me to go out into the streets and perform all of the tasks she and her friends did, I would have simply said no.