"You don't hafta go home, but you can't stay here."
Then I drove my van across town to the dealership for an oil change. I was overdue by 1,000 miles, but I'm sure they've seen worse. I listened to my iPod while I waited for the plastic pager to buzz the news of my van's ready-to-go-ness. One of the mechanics (technicians?) came towards me, clipboard in hand. "Shit," I thought. It seems like every other time I'm in there, they show me some random part from my car and tell me how degraded it is. "This is your schnehoozadumper hose, Mrs. M. See how rusty it is?"
But, I got lucky this time. It turned out they had forgotten to write down my pager number and were unable to summon me. They were sending me off with just the oil change, as luck would have it.
Next, I drove to Target to buy a gift card for a birthday party that the kid would be attending in the afternoon. Then I drove home and picked up Chloe so that I could take her to her new digs. Chloe's new home is about two hours away, and the trip was pretty uneventful. She snoozed on the backseat while I chatted with my wee baby sister on the phone. When we arrived at our destination, Chloe ran in to her new abode and promptly peed on a blanket. I had assured her new family that she was absolutely, positively housebroken, so that was fun. Chloe's new doggie brothers were happy to see her again, and the genital sniffing ("Hey, she's still got a vagina, just like last week!") and head punching were in full swing in no time.
I think Chloe barely noticed when I left, but I'm sure she was crying on the inside.
Once I got home in the late afternoon (A and P were still at the birthday party), I had just enough time to change and head over to the fellowship to help set up for an auction/fundraiser/dance. A and "Father" met me there at 6. The kids watched "Madagascar" and ate pizza while the grown-ups spent their money bidding on things like gourmet dinners and massages. I'd never bid on a massage. The last time I had a massage, I spent the entire session fretting over how the massage therapist was no doubt wondering how it was possible for one body to house that much cellulite.
After the auction, the DJ cranked up the music and the kids started filtering back in. Would you like to guess who was the first person to hit the dance floor? If you guessed that it was a curly-haired girl sporting glitter shoes and cake frosting, you're right. Then we couldn't get her off the dance floor. As I recall, she closed down the party last year as well.
I did win a few things in the silent auction: a six-hour chunk of babysitting by a Red Cross-certified 14-year-old, a cloth teepee (which is currently hiding in the basement and should make quite an impression on Christmas morning), and some Disney Princess stuff (also hiding in the basement).