Our friend, Clare, came over for lunch on Super Bowl Sunday and we went to Sandy Hook up the road. It is a lovely spot with a view of the other side of the bay from ours. I tried to eat lightly because of the party later, so I had broiled scallops and shrimp and it cries out for chilled, dry white wine, so I had that. Later we hung out at our house. I made coffee and, somehow, that pesky wine fried my brain and I forgot to place the carafe on the coffee plate. So the coffee poured out onto the counter and floor.

Clare helped me clean up and I started over. Ed sat on the sofa and watched TV and I told Clare about the time at our apartment in Queens, that the super had come up with a better refrigerator for us. He and Ed moved the old one out and uncovered a 50-year accumulation of crud and crawly things. The two of them went into the den to watch TV and told me to call them after I had cleaned it all up. Quite frankly, I didn’t mind because they don’t know how to go do a good job and their solution would have been to just move the new refrigerator into that spot without doing anything. So we chuckled over that story.

Clare left before 5. She wasn’t interested in coming to the party with us.

Ed and I took a wee nap and then I started to freshen up for the party. Ed got churlish because he is anal about being on time. His party manners, however, were totally irrelevant with this crowd whose sartorial taste can best be described as one step up from Skid Row -- shorts and flip flops and a few tattoos. We walked across the circle (we are in a cul desac) and there we were. There were two groups – one upstairs where the family room and kitchen are and where Debbie was knocking herself out with food prep, and the rec room in the garage area, with a second TV, and the coolers with the beer were. The smokers and guys and die-hard women were down there.

We had brought a couple of shrimp platters. Debbie has a circular counter separating the kitchen from the family room and we sat there. I had a chat with Sandy, an attractive 40-50ish woman, divorced, living in St. James City (on Pine Island, next island over) with her sister. She was nicely dressed in a sporty way. We were joined by a 30ish woman, plain, dark clothes showcasing her sallow, make-upless complexion. She had a piercing on the side of her nose and there was a tiny diamond in it. Sandy (otherwise sane) oh, oh, wanted one too. Ms. Plain told us, almost breathlessly, that she had spent YEARS researching the significance of a piercing in this particular place but had found nothing, nothing, I tell you. But she wasn’t giving up because she knew there was a meaning there and she would find it. Her speech was slurred. I wondered if it was an impediment or if she had begun to party before she even got to Debbie’s. I refrained from telling her what ear piercings and earrings mean in the gay New York world. My eyes glazed over.

A tall woman, sunken eyes, long, lanky dark hair, 50ish, came over with a lottery board for the game. For a dollar we could write our name in one of the boxes (we weren’t actually to choose a point spread or anything sophisticated). I said no thank you, but she kept asking and she didn’t understand me, because, apparently, she had self-medicated and could not hear well. So I said, first, I don’t have a dollar, and second, I don’t give a shit. To her credit, she laughed immoderately, or maybe she was having a spasm.

A couple came in with a baby, about 16 months old, named Sophie. Most of the women oohed and aahed. I was not one of them. The baby stayed for the whole party . I don’t think babies belong at grown-up parties. If you can’t get a sitter, I think you should park it in a quiet bedroom with a bottle (and a sedative?) and look in on it from time to time.

Ed, whom I occasionally sought out, allowed himself to wonder where Debbie finds these people. Debbie is super warm, does a lot of volunteer work, also has a paying job at Lee Memorial. I suspect she rounds up the alumni from the alcohol rehab unit because she thinks they need cheering up.

As for food, I allowed myself a hot dog, mustard/onions/hot banana pepper rings, a lite beer, and one piece of fudge. The problem with hot dogs is that once you have one, you need more and I sit here salivating and dreaming about the next time (at least a year from now).

Ed and I segued down to the below stairs party and sat at a little table straddling the garage and the driveway. Slowly, Ed got up and said I should count 30 seconds and join him on the way to our house. I did this. It was only 7:30 but it felt right.

At home, Ed watched TV, dipping into the game from time to time to get the score. And, because Mayor Bloomberg of New York (my new hero, because on the day he learned the Komen group had defunded Planned Parenthood, he contributed $450,000 of his own money) had said in an interview that if the Giants won the Super Bowl, it would mean Obama’s re-election this year. So I was happy the Giants won based on that alone. And I felt good for the quarterback because he was so happy and got MVP.

Xx, Teal