The party is not at our house

Life at home was quiet all weekend. There were so shenanigans, no bedroom brawls, and no workshop antics.
Even the first shed party, which I had relied on heavily for fodder for this column, fizzled and died before stories could be had.
The two founding members of this spontaneous affair (namely Pete and his co-worker #1) had a light bulb plan for the mid-afternoon “gala” on Friday after being befriended by repeat shots of an amber-coloured substance “on the rocks.”
They phoned up the pizza delivery girl (who was busy working her day job at the newspaper) and asked her to kindly bring home a hot supper “for the boys,” who had been invited to arrive after the end of their work day.
Little did the party planners remember that resistance to this invitation has never been futile (quite frankly, “the boys” don’t know what they’re missing when they pass up such bids for a good ol’ time).
And of course, the party planners failed to inform the pizza delivery girl, who had taken it upon herself to up the calibre of their food order from store-bought pizza to three large, hot, custom-made, restaurant-quality pies.
She’d also left her day job early to meet the suggested timeline set out by the party planners.
Being the machine she is, pizza delivery girl also managed to get groceries, do the laundry, pay bills, and go to the gym within the span of the 25 minutes it took for the pizzas to ready. Remarkable.
Throwing caution to the wind, she then put on her lead boot and did 10 km/h over the speed limit to make it home while the food was still hot.
Sure that she was late, pizza delivery girl almost parked her wheels off-road while negotiating the final curve in the gravel road, which would have landed her in the same spot in the snowbank re-visited two winters in a row by a handsome man driving a large green 4×4.
By the time pizza delivery girl pulled up at the door to the shed party, her hair looked like the wrath of God, her adrenaline levels were up from a near all-terrain experience, and the bees in her bonnet were set to go off, I think, because she forgot to take the little green pill called estrogen that morning.
Needless to say, when she walked into the shed carrying three large pizzas only to find no one home, the bees came to life. Pizza delivery girl then burned a path to the house, where she found Pete prone on the couch in their bedroom talking to his mother on the phone.
Apparently, “Ma” had had a dream that Pete had taken a job in their home country of Italy and had offered to take her along (in your dreams).
Meanwhile, co-worker #1 had been given a ride home two hours earlier because he needed to take a nap.
Pizza delivery girl had arrived home with three large pizzas for one party pooper. She now had a huge dilemma—pitch a fit, or go quietly into the good night.
You guessed right.
She ranted and raved and did a little dance while expounding on her misguided efforts to please, and all that she went through to get it done right.
Then she parked it and ate a whole lot of pizza. Pete, meanwhile, mistook a short memory on letting the wife know about party cancellations for a clear conscience.
He made up for that with me later. But not before co-worker #1’s wife called asking if her husband was still at our house. She had come home to find their house all dark and figured he was still partying it up over here.
From what I gather from the news wire the next day, he napped right through the planned family barbecue that night. Ouch!

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