Performance Issues
I told you there was foam. It turned out to be at Hi Life. I’ve written about the place before, but this time we were outside.
Apparently rooftops are where nightlife lives now a lot of the time and this particular one required less clothing, because of the foam involved. Fortunately, we had come prepared and it didn’t take long before everyone had slipped into their rather skimpy pool attire. I love my friends.
Now, you may have gathered over time that I’m a woman of few practical skills.
Possibly none.
I know some people appreciate me greatly for certain things I can do and you may be nodding right now, but that’s not what you meant and I understand. You probably wouldn’t ask me to repair your dishwasher. You shouldn’t let me walk your dog and I’m not entirely sure you’d trust me to pump up your tires. That’s fine. I appreciate the honesty.
However, I do know certain stuff and, as it turned out, some of it came in rather handy on that rooftop because not long after we arrived, one of the foam machines stopped working. One moment it had been providing a strong, steady stream of white foam, the next it was having some rather unfortunate problems performing.
Nothing I haven’t seen before.
I went over to investigate and with just a few simple long, but decisive strokes and some encouraging words, the thing sprang back into action. Quite enthusiastically, actually.
Within seconds it was gushing all over me.
Obviously this did not go unnoticed and before I knew it, everyone had gathered around and we were happily enjoying the spraying flow all over our bodies. See?
Practical skills.
I could have kept going forever, so you can probably understand my concern when Chili suddenly appeared. I love her to bits, but Chili has a peculiar relationship with time. Somehow she always manages to arrive just as a party is reaching its end. It’s a gift, really.
Unfortunately, it’s the same sort of gift your dad had when he arrived to pick you up from high school at precisely the moment you were hoping to have some fun behind a dumpster.
You love him. You’re happy to see him. Just perhaps not right now.
So when Chili arrived, I assumed that was it. Monday had run its course. The foam would stop, people would get dressed and we’d all be going home. Except something very strange happened. Another Chili showed up.
Two of them! I have no idea what caused this, whether someone had been adding something unusual to the foam or whether Chili has finally discovered mitosis, but apparently the usual rules no longer apply when you have more than one.
One Chili means the party is almost over. Two Chilis somehow make it last longer. This feels like useful scientific information and I’m glad I was there to document it.
So the foam kept flowing, the rooftop remained very underdressed and Monday lasted longer than Monday should have. By the time I finally made it home, I desperately needed to lie down.
For once, entirely by myself.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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