I’d Love to Carve That Pumpkin With You
But there’s a zit on my lip.
You understand. While fall falderal certainly has its place in a civilized society, and I’d never deny anyone the joy of scooping the brains out of a over-plump squash, I’m afraid I cannot attend your event.
It’s not because I consider myself more evolved than you.
(Though you did misplace a comma in your Facebook invite. That out-of-sorts punctuation mark was torturous to view, but I managed to refrain from pointing it out (until now, I suppose). I can be very tactful and considerate when I put my mind to it.)
What was my point?
Oh, yes. As you know, I can be every bit as plebeian as the next Joe or Patsy. I don’t consider myself above celebrations planned to mimic a “more innocent time”.
Delusions look stunning on me.
I can also frolic with the best of them! I’ve been known to cut a rug with great success. Though I’ve never tried, cutting a pumpkin cannot be all that different. Under normal circumstances, I’d certainly attend your “Festive Fall Pumpkin Carving Party” and make merry with your Uncle Bert who always eats all the tuna.
But, tragically, I’ve come down with a stultifying case of lip zit.
(Surely you know what stultifying means? Oh, good. Of course you do. I did not doubt you for a moment.)
(It’s when something has a dulling or inhibiting effect.)
Probably there are some party guests who would not allow a blemish to keep them from experiencing the fun of your little diversion. But the respect I hold for you does not allow me to show my face in its current, imperfect incarnation. I shall instead down four glasses of sherry and spend the evening bemoaning the current state of today’s youth.
I know you will miss me terribly.
I will send you any new insights on the topic. Yes, I shall do that. I do not wish to doom you to a complete absence of my aura. I’m told I have the most generous and comforting aura. I wouldn’t presume to say so myself, but all my friends tell me it simply glows with good cheer.
Perhaps you have told me the same? I cannot recall.
In fairness, I’m already one glass in.
Remind me. What are your thoughts on my aura?
Ah, wait just a moment. I must attend to the monstrosity that has taken up residence on my face. It seems to grow larger at each ticking of the clock. Ha ha! Of course that is absurd, and, yet, perhaps a second glass of sherry will help.
When I received your invitation, I was quite glad to see you’d finally gotten over that little kerfuffle at your “Annual Easter Egg Hunt”. I don’t know what else a reasonable person is supposed to do with a character in a rabbit costume other than braid its ears to the lamppost. In fairness, I had no idea that was your mother! Mothers in refined families do not typically hop around and wiggle their noses. Most people would consider my actions not only excusable, but downright expected.
But I have learned my lesson and will not do it again. I understand you are sensitive when it comes to your mother being fastened to things she does not wish to be fastened to.
I expect your mother will not be dressed as a rabbit at this function?
But, oh yes, I had forgotten. I will not be attending.
Good gracious, this zit is getting large. It’s nearly the size of a radish.
Can you imagine, a lady of my age and experience, with a zit on her face? Perhaps it speaks to my spirit, which has frequently been described as “youthful”. It’s why I am such a delightful party guest and so highly in demand.
Remember your “Very Merry Christmas Party”? Everyone loved me! Though, you must strive to be a little better in events such as those. I only say it to help. When I complimented the extreme ugliness of your sweater, only to be informed that it was not, in fact, an ugly sweater party, well, you really shouldn’t have cried.
(Tears are so unattractive when one is supposed to be having fun.)
I cannot be expected to account for your poor taste.
And the way you treated me for the next three months? Avoiding my text messages and refusing to comment on the memes I posted? That was hurtful and vindictive. How fortunate for you that I chose to forgive you.
My kind heart is a weakness, I suppose.
Another glass. Yes, I need another glass.
This zit is so large. Surely it’s the largest zit in the recorded history of zits. Perhaps it is deserving of acclaim. One might almost call it a pumpkin, based on the circumference it has achieved. I can barely see my own face in the mirror. If you were here, you’d be astonished at what I’ve managed to grow on my face, with only sherry and strength of will.
I am remarkable, it is true.
Would you like, perhaps, to slip away from your event, just to see?
Oh, you are not responding. That is predictable.
I wonder what is happening right now at the “Festive Fall Pumpkin Carving Party”. I shall check the schedule of events to see what gaiety might be distracting you.
Pumpkin carving at 5pm.
Seed roasting at 6pm.
Cursing one’s enemies at 7pm.
Harvest songs at 8pm.
Bean bag toss at 9pm.
I’m afraid this shall be my last missive, as the once-small zit on my lip has now expanded to block my view of anything other than the ceiling. I’m not concerned, as I have always had an affinity for this ceiling. Please pass on all my best wishes for a wonderful party and tell Uncle Bert to save some tuna for your other guests.
I hope to receive an invitation to your “Friendsgiving Spectacular” soon. You’ll be excited to know I have all kinds of opinions on pilgrim erasure I’ve been saving for that particular event.