Dinner in

My cousin’s eldest granddaughter’s ninth birthday party was held late this afternoon. She requested a baseball themed party, which meant grilled hot dogs for supper. I moved around between the back deck, front patio and house so everyone would think I had eaten elsewhere. I didn’t want to tell them I had dinner plans in case follow-up questions were asked. As a rule, I prefer that no one knows I’m seeing someone until wedding invitations go out. Keeps things simple.

Granddaughter 2, the fashion loving one, spotted the pink polish (“Aphrodite's Pink Nightie”) on my toes and asked about it. She approved that I had gotten a pedicure this morning but scrunched her nose at the scent of salt scrub I’d chosen (a citrus blend), long since showered off. “You can’t still smell it,” I said, prompting her to drop her nose to my calf.

 “No, but you told me what it is. I don’t like it.”

 “When you have your toes done, which scrub do you choose?”

“Bubblegum.”

Of course.

 While I was getting unsolicited advice on my hair color (she likes it lighter), Blaine sent a text letting me know he was at the house with Izzy, the grill was ready to go and I shouldn’t hurry to get back. “Enjoy the kids,” he wrote. He’s under the impression I like little kids after the way I interacted with Eli. I suppose I do, but my kid-loving gene is generally lost under dog fur.

Fearing that granddaughter 2 was about to critique my outfit, I scrambled her to the side yard where there was a game of something going on. It’s possible the superheroes were taking on the princesses in some sort of space rodeo. I scooted past quickly to avoid being called in to serve as an intergalactic barrel-wearing clown. The youngest of the girls yelled, “The bugs in this jar are magical. They’ll eat your faces!” I do get a huge kick out of these girls.

When I arrived back at Eve’s, I let myself in through the garage. I called out a hello when I closed the door into the house, but no one answered either by voice or by four paws dancing on the hardwood floor.

Through the patio doors I saw Blaine sitting at the table with his back to the door. Izzy was sprawled on the deck beside him chewing on something. When I slid open the door, he let his book close and looked back at me, smiling. Izzy scrambled up and gave me a thorough sniffing while she paced figure eights through and around my legs. “I don’t see any singed fur,” I said to her. “You’ve been a good girl!”

Blaine stood and we said hello with Izzy slipping between us to keep things proper. “This is nice,” he said nodding toward my attempt to pretty up the table. Just wait until I turn on the party lights, I thought.

Dinner came together pretty quickly. I made lemon mashed potatoes while Blaine grilled salmon and asparagus. It was a beautiful night to be outside: warm, an occasional wisp of breeze, a few flies to keep Izzy entertained but no other bugs. Izzy is a perfectly behaved dog when she’s in the yard. Tonight she entertained herself around the yard and napped, never barking or whining.

We rewarded her with a long walk after dinner. She did great. Maybe the key is to wait until after dark when the neighborhood is quiet. She still wanted to play when we got back but tired fairly quickly. We stayed downstairs where she tends to be calmer. Izzy soon hopped on the couch and fell asleep, while we settled on the other and didn’t.