Debbie Does Drivel

Kev's Birthday: An Accounting

Well, it was overcast. We were having a beach party, and as I set up the chips and salsa close to the water's edge, a chill wind kicked up.
Kev got crabby. He felt dissed by God. After all, the day before (and the day after, it turns out) was quite sunny. In fact, today (a Monday) is sunny. What the F is with that? A Monday, God? Why not a Saturday? Why not a Party Saturday?
Meanwhile...
The wind kept blowing little particles of sand in the spinach dip, and tugged at the corners of the spill-proof vinyl tablecloth which we kept pinned down with beer cans.
All in all, it looked kind of sad: two lone figures setting up a beach party under a cloud cover that Seattle would have been proud to call its own.
I grew rebellious and got all "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" about it.
I procured a vase of sunflowers and set it up on the storm-tossed table in defiance of the gloom.
They promptly tipped over. I set it up again. Down it went.
Sand-crusted and limpy, with its petals blowing and furrowing into the spicy carrots, the sunflowers looked like shit.
But they were staying: I wedged the top-heavy vase between the Red Vines and a Coors Light pyramid, and cursed the wind.
That was the turning point: as I looked South, I saw our friends and their two children making their way down the boardwalk, carrying beach chairs.
Yes, it still was pathetic, the six of us buffeted by $552 of Costco food and beverage, but we held on.
Soon, more stragglers joined the fray and before we knew it, all the RSVPs made it.
Some not until 4-4:30, but that three-hour period between the 1PM party start time and the guest arrivals really built character.
It ended up being a grand event, and a good time was had by all.
Until I started singing an Indigo Girls dirge, but I guess I started missing the gloom, so thought I'd recreate some.
I'm so predictable.
But this is about Kev.