She could've said no very easily but she didn't. The plan was to watch the Grammy's and watch Mumford and Son's and maybe go to bed early. But she found herself hanging up the phone and grabbing her keys and putting on her shoes. She was exhausted from the night before but she had been alone all day and she'd realized a long time ago she shouldn't spend too much time alone...
The movie she'd been lured to see was The Hangover. Possibly the Funniest Movie Ever. That's what she was told. Dinner was made-- she couldn't turn down quinoa and chicken and peppers. She shredded the chicken herself. Nor did she turn down the red wine offered to her. And the movie wasn't bad. A little over the top perhaps. Offensive just for the point of being offensive. Some humerous parts. They had pudding for dessert-- made from her own hand mixer she'd brought over a month earlier. It was good. Vanilla. Creamy. Thick.
Then they played guitars. It was 10:30 and she was growing tired but then there were these guitars just hanging on the wall, the $1500 Taylor and the electric and the bass... just begging to be plugged in, picked, strummed. They turned on the amp. She picked up the Taylor. Got a pick. Choose some chords, she was told, and I'll play along. Play whatever you want, let's just jam.
They played until after midnight. She had to be awake at 6am.
How did this always happen?
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