We met at one of our member's homes; since it was a potluck, I made a stop to Perkins first. My expertise in the kitchen extends to punching a microwave button, so I generally pick up a fresh-baked Perkins pie when a food item is called for.
Actually, to be fair to my inner-chef, I do make good chili and Mexican fideo, as well as decent cookies and cup cakes. "Foods" was one of my favorite classes in high school; I had two kitchen mates, but one was always getting suspended and rarely even spoke to us. Thus, my other partner and I would cook up elaborate creations like home-made German chocolate cake or flaky-crusted pies brimming with fresh fruit, and we'd make the poor "outcast" wash the dishes. Then we'd cut her a piece of whatever we had whipped up, and we'd split the rest between ourselves. I had study hall right after Foods class, but I was a student aid so I got to spend the period in an empty classroom with the other aides. We were probably supposed to do something useful like grade papers, but instead we all sat around, gossiped, and chowed down on my kitchen creations.
But alas, that was many years ago; now I leave the household cooking to my husband and the potluck chores to Perkins or Publix. I selected an apple/carmel pie as my contribution to the Mommas buffet.
I arrived at the appointed time, and our hostess produced two pitchers of libations, one containing margaritas and the other brimming with sangria. I had to opt for the sangria as it looked so tempting, with chunks of fruit floating enticingly on a ruby red river of liquid.
Despite the fact that our High Priestess/Official Photographer likes to take photos of me with at least two drinks in my grubby little paws, let me assure my readers that the margarita in the photo below is for prop purposes only:
There was a large turn-out of Mommas, and we all gathered around to enjoy the rapidly spreading buffet. There were all sorts of appetizers and some pasta dishes, a lovely fruit plate, and little cream puff pastries. I quickly became addicted to the crackers topped with a yummy cream cheese mixture. We all imbibed in food and drink, then moved the party over to the pool.
Even though it was a lovely, warm evening, the Mommas gravitated to the hot tub. What is more quntessentially "Florida" than luxurating in a hot tub, with a round of mojitos in hand?
Better yet, I reminded myself that it was mid-April. Back in the midwest, I would most likely have been holed up our condo, suffering from cabin fever and cursing the blustery winds extend winter's chill and delay spring's arrival. In Chicago, you don't even start thinking about using an outdoor pool until June. But here in Celebration, "winter" is a short snap of 40-degree nights and 60-degree days that is Heaven on earth for someone who is sick of cold and snow.
Still, as Floridians, we gravitated away from the rather chilly pool water to comfy 95 degree environs of the hot tub. We spent some very pleasant time chatting while the evening sped away...before I know it, it was 11 p.m. We had promised to drive our neighbors to their cruise pick-up on I-Drive the next morning, so I knew I would need to reluctantly drag myself away from the fun.
I had driven Crush (my NEV), so just in case the effects of sangria and mojitos had transformed me into a danger on the road, I figured that the little plastic vehicle wouldn't pose much of a danger. (Actually, I had only had a couple of drinks in total, so I knew it would be safe to drive back to East Village...otherwise, I would have called hubby to pick me up in Canyonero.)
Sure, it hadn't been a celebrity stalking (although Davy is due back at Disney next month, so I suspect we'll be on our way to Epcot soon) or a romp among naked bodies, but it had been great fun. Sometimes it's nice just to laze around, munch on goodies, have a drink or two (or three) and relax in the warm, bubbling water. The Mommas chalked up another meeting success!
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