Is This The Right Party?

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Puzzled, unfamiliar faces stared back at me, red frat party-type plastic mugs halted midway to mouth. It was a party alright, but the wrong party. I had been headed to my friend Jo’s birthday party and had just arrived at the apartment complex, when my phone battery died.

Catherine, another friend, had reminded me of Jo’s building address as I dropped her off some doors away and went to find a parking place. I promptly forgot the address. I wandered around the condominium complex, trying to jog my memory. 721 or 741? The dark, cold night wouldn’t help my memory.

Then I heard music booming out of one building and thanked the universe for bestowing upon me ears that worked. With my ever over-enthusiastic, sanguine, mouth-in-first energy, I flung the door wide open without knocking, happily announcing my presence, expecting welcoming applause from friends. It was at this point that I encountered the puzzled, unfamiliar faces and the plastic red mugs. There were about 15 people in the room.

“Oh hey! Am I at the wrong party?” I asked, maybe semi-announced. In one hand, I had my phone, my charger and car keys. In the other, I carried a pair of golden high-heeled shoes I planned to wear once I shed the boots I had on to keep my feet warm.

“I think you’re in the wrong place,” a woman told me. She was kind about it, but was clearly puzzled.

I started laughing. They started laughing. Two of the women invited me to stay, and plugged my phone to charge long enough to retrieve my friend Jo’s apartment address. I knocked gently on Jo’s door, careful to make sure I was entering the right apartment this time.



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