Hey!! It's Casual!!

Mom announced that it would be a casually intimate New Years Eve party that she and my Dad were throwing this year.

Casual meaning if things went sideways; Hey! It's casual!

And intimate being that the only people invited were Phil and Linda Davidson.

Now Phil and Linda were our down the street neighbors who belonged to the same tennis club as we did. They would often play mixed with Mom and Dad, and where Linda liked to win by aiming her 100 mph serve at Mom's head, Phil went out of his way to slow things down and give Dad some handy pointers. At the end of every game, everyone but my Mom would come off the court glowing, invigorated and ready for a cold Heineken. I think Dad got a kick out of Phil where Mom just wanted to physically kick Linda. Regardless, Mom said it was super important to be tight with the Davidsons because you don't shit where you eat (whatever that means).

It was decided that Mom would make a standing rib roast from the Better Homes and Garden cookbook my Dad gave her for their anniversary. I remember flipping thru the

thick glossy pages, staring at the pictures and absolutely cursing my father for even giving her ideas in the first place.

Linda drank something called white russians so Mom made sure to have the recipe and all the ingredients fully stocked at the makeshift bar. Interestingly enough, Mom's drink of choice was the black russian and that irony was not lost on me. Per usual Dad was the official bartender (which, in my opinion, was the best seat in the house) and I was in charge of the relish dish and making a very important appetizer consisting of salami wrapped in cream cheese held together with a toothpick.

At 6:45 on the dot, Mom asked Dad to make her a drink, fired up a cigarette and waited. Her house was spotless and she was ready.

In the meantime I hid away in my room and played only with the stuff that lived inside my toy box (for easy clean up).

I was keenly aware of the time and kept my fingers and toes crossed that the company would arrive shortly.

After an hour had gone by there was finally a knock on the door. Mom must have had a couple of her black russians because she was sounding downright giddy when the Davidsons arrived. Apparently they had been at another party and had the hardest time getting out of there! But here they were, which meant I could relax and watch it all unfold.

Under normal circumstances, every time Phil and Linda came over things were a snooze until they felt the need to loosen things up. I knew this because Phil would always announce that it was time to do so. But tonight I think the Davidsons had started loosening up before they even got here.

After dinner was finished, Phil went outside to smoke his funny cigarettes (that smelled like body odor), Dad went back to the bar and Linda was sitting on the couch looking through our record collection. Suddenly she jumped to her feet holding up a Harry Belafonte album and announced, to nobody in particular,

“Ladies and germs drink up that wine and come over here for some day-oh time!"

(This would be the obvious cue that things were about to get interesting and time for me to hide in the coat closet and spy from the side-lines.)

When Linda put the needle on the record, a blast of funny sounding music tore through the stereo speakers sending my Mom full sprint across the room to take over the situation. But it was too late because Linda had already commenced into a very dynamic and strictly solo dance performance in the middle of the living room. She was twirling and waving her arms up and down to the music and jabbering about how machismo Harry was and something else about crackers in bed.

To cut any awkwardness Mom started pretend-dancing with her (so’s not to make it uncomfortable for anyone else watching) but apparently Linda was just getting started.

For whatever reason she decided to change gears and turn the dance into something else entirely.

She started calling my Mom “Harry” and, as she seductively flirted and worked on getting my Mom's attention, it was obvious that (even though they were sharing the same dance floor), their performances were not on the same page.

Clearly Mom was still engaged in the de-weirding section of the program because when Linda started slithering towards her, Mom reacted with an impressive high-kick that knocked

Linda’s white russian out of her hands and into the carpet. As Linda collapsed to her knees, she wailed “OH HARRY how could you?!” Then, she slowly got up off the floor and wobbled out to find my Dad for a refill. My Mom (without missing a step)

quickly prance-danced down the hall to go find him (or Phil) for

reinforcement.

My snoopy watch read that it was only 9:45 and clear that Mom had already lost control of this casual party.

Without thinking I quietly re-emerged from the closet and started to clean up. I didn't wait for permission because I knew I didn't need it. This party needed some fresh blood and I was just the person to give it!

Because the living room was empty I started picking up the leftover glasses and threw some cocktail napkins on the spoils of Linda's gazillionth white russian.

Walking into the kitchen I saw that everyone was outside on the deck. Linda had her arm thrown over Mom's shoulder while Dad was trying to steady her from behind. Phil was slumped in a chair still puffing away on his funny cigarettes and not helping at all, so I knew it was time for me to step in.

I formulated a plan and quickly ran downstairs into the playroom. Going straight for my costume trunk, I pulled out one of Mom's old white slips, a colorful head scarf and my grandma's fake mink shawl. After assembling my outfit I decided to add my gray, curly Mother Goose wig from our school’s mega hit production of Fairy Tales Live! and I was ready to roll.

Because the playroom was connected to the garage I slipped outside and made the trek up the two flights of stairs to the front door. After a final wig check, I rang the doorbell. Nobody answered and it was freezing so I just kept ringing it until I heard footsteps from inside. The door finally flung open and there was Mom with that crazed look on her face. I said nothing as I marched straight down the hallway and onto the back deck (where Dad was still trying to keep Linda on her feet).

Channeling my role of the great Mother Goose, I assumed my best English accent and announced, “A little birdy told me that there was a scrumptiously casual get together happening here this evening, so I knew I had to flutter by!”

You literally could have heard a pin drop, but the shocked look on their faces read loud and clear. Suddenly Mom started giggling. Not the tight-lipped version she had been using all night but a bend over, hold-your-crotch-so-you-don't-pee yourself CHOKE. Of course, this made me start grinning and also gave me the permission to keep going. “I just moved into the sweetest little cottage down the way and was simply giddy to make your acquaintance!” Staring at Phil I continued, “You must be Phillip! Is this your lovely wife Linda?”

Digging deep and with authority, I clapped my hands together and headed inside to the living room. “My, my, it's so chilly out there! Why don't we retire inside? There is a lovely crackling fire to warm our toes and listen to some stories! Assisting Dad I said “Linda please take a seat on this comfy couch and relax yourself.”

I felt like the Pied Piper because it actually worked and they all followed me in without hesitation.

As soon as I had them all gathered, my Dad joined suit. “Would you like something to drink? I’m sorry, We didn't catch your name.” Being completely in the zone I replied “Oh heavens, forgive my manners! My name is Katherine Goose and I'd love a white russian!”

With that, Linda perked up and ordered one as well so I followed my father to the bar to collect our cocktails. Obviously, he only poured me a glass of milk on the rocks and saved the real deal for Linda. Carefully holding both drinks I made sure to switch them upon delivery because she didn't need any more loosening up and I was curious what all the fuss was about.

Setting Lindas milk on a cocktail napkin I said “For you my dear.” And quickly moved on to the record player, clutching my glass, praying she was too relaxed to notice.

Mom then fired up a cig and settled into the sofa (next to Linda) and just let me have at it.

“Well here's to the New Year with new friends! Shall we raise our glasses?” As if on cue, everyone grabbed their drink and repeated “To new friends!”

I was totally in control of this shindig.

After the toast, everyone took a big swig of their cocktail so I followed suit. Now keep in mind that at ten years old, I had never had alcohol before, so (to put it mildly) the taste was shocking. It was like a milky mess of nail polish remover sprinkled with brown sugar. And because all eyes were on me, I had no other choice but to swallow it down.. hard. The burn in my throat from the chemical smell instantly made my eyes water but I knew throwing up wasn’t an option.

After all, I was a professional and knew the show must go on.

My lips curled into the toothy-ist grin I could muster and I croaked "Well, now that that's over with, how about some music?"

Because my eyes were still watering and I couldn't see straight, I grabbed the first album I could find and quickly (yet carefully) took the record out of its jacket and onto the turntable.

My Dad was an avid record collector. Mom said his taste in music was eclectic (whatever that meant) so it was anyone's guess as to what was going to start playing.

Suddenly horns started blaring through the speakers that sounded exactly like sexy girl music. I froze and realized that I was only ten years old! Also, how was I going to perform this number dressed as Mother Goose?!

Luckily the singer started to belt out her song, and when she did, everyone started laughing (even Mom who had been holding court from the couch). Turns out it was the theme song from a James Bond movie called Goldfinger.

To my surprise (and relief), she and Linda got up and started singing along.

"Goldfinger-rr! He's the man with the Midas touch. A spider's touch!"

Their second dance routine was totally different than the first, because together, they both started running around pretending to shoot things with their fingers.

I took this as a cue to sit by my Dad and collect myself. My eyes were still watering and the burn had made its way into my tummy. I was on the fence about whether I should take another swig of my white russian when Phil regained consciousness just long enough to ask me to dance. Turns out he was really good at it! So, while Mom and Linda pranced around the room shooting everything, Phil started to teach me the art of disco dancing. Luckily the burn in my stomach had cooled way down, leaving me with a warm, tingly feeling so I got my second wind.

I immediately ordered my Dad to put on the record from Saturday Night Fever.

Snoopy watch read 11:27.

My favorite thing about my Dad's record collection were the covers of the albums themselves. Dad called them sleeves and sometimes you could open them up like a book and look at all the pictures inside. On the rare occasion that he would play one on the turntable, I'd lay tummy-down on the floor, listen to the music and look through the pictures wondering what was actually happening behind them.

Now the Saturday Night Fever album lived inside just one of those sleeves. It showed all the pictures behind not only the songs, but the movie as well. I loved that John Travolta was in almost all of them (practicing his dance moves) but I wasn't happy with the girl he was pictured with (who I guess played his girlfriend). In all honesty, I didn't think she looked very approachable, let alone his type. I mean she looked way older than him and always had a sour look on her face.

She was nothing compared to Olivia Newton John who I coveted as the most talented lady in the world.

I had seen her and Mr. Travolta in the movie Grease like a million times and, as a matter of fact, owned the album personally.

Whenever I had a friend over they wanted to play Grease (which basically meant lip synching to the music). This was unfortunate for me because all my friends were blonde (meaning they all got to play Olivia Newton John's part), and because I was a brunette, I always had to be the character Rizzo, who only got one song and ended up pregnant.

Anyways, I loved all things John Travolta so Saturday Night Fever was a favorite.

When my Dad put the album on, Phil started rolling his hands in front of his body really fast and jerking his shoulders to the music. He must have been really focusing on his moves because he was squinting at me and biting his lower lip so hard it looked like he was in pain. Even though we were supposed to be dancing together, I had no idea what was going on (or what to do), so I took my Granny Goose wig off, hurled it towards the fireplace and twirled.

Phil grabbed both my hands and went left. Oddly enough, I naturally went right. Left, right, left, right. We were dancing! All of a sudden he let me go and started pointing his finger to the sky and then straight down to the floor all-the-while shaking his hips sideways.

Left to my own devices, I countered by biting my own lower lip, squinting at him and bouncing up and down like I was on a pogo stick.

Next thing I knew, Dad had turned the music up and my Mom and Linda started rolling their hands just like Phil did. I joined in, and suddenly we were marching forwards (four counts), then marching backwards (four counts) circling to the left (clap) and then circling to the right (clap).

It was the coolest thing I'd ever done. We were all together, in unison, like we'd done it a million times before.

My dad then (very loudly over the music) shouted, “It's almost time!”

At this point, the grownups got ready and grabbed their cocktail glasses.

Snoopy watch: 11:58.

Someone told me that you are supposed to kiss whoever is next to you when the clock hits 12:00. Considering the company I was with, this sounded gross so I quickly ran to the stereo, put the needle on Dad’s favorite slow song called “How Deep is Your Love” and bolted back down the hall to my room. Closing my door I heard them cheer, and then..nothing. Someone had turned the volume down and all was quiet. It was at that point the white russian took over my body so still clad in my Mother Goose outfit, I climbed into my bed and passed out.

This casually, intimate party was a wrap.