Grant and Halloween

Grant is pretty and all.  But he needs to get over his divorce.  And that chip on his shoulder about Mormonism.  Yoda says:  Majorly screwed up in the head he is.  And thus a perfectly good Halloween evening of Papa Murphy's, a bag of fun size snickers, and a redbox was wasted listening to him talk about what an idiot he feels like for getting involved with such a witch (but she ain't Glenda's daughter everybody).  And I totally felt bad for him....for the first fifteen minutes.  And then I got angry at him.  Because he was a pig!  And I knew better.

Oktober-Beer-Fest/Slut Costume Parade was the theme of this party.  Why I really think he called me:  he needed a designated driver.  I had to listen about what prudes (the least offensive of the name calling) Mormon girls are and he can't believe he fell for one who was so frigid.  My theme for the night:  Mercy help me, how did I get involved in this?  

Apparently, after his divorce (and I'm wondering how long after his divorce because it was just six months ago) nobody would give him a chance (poor baby...maybe because of that "I'm a raving lunatic" flag he's flying...but it could just be me?) and he became Mr. Damaged Goods rather than the Mr. Desirable he is used to being.  And then a coworker set him up with a "hot" nonmember and it all is downhill from there.

One down.  Three more holidays to go.  I think I'm coming down with a long and highly contagious case of mono this holiday season.

 

So I Get a Text Today

Hey stranger, what's up?  It says.  And its from a number I don't recognize.  

So I respond:  Who is this?  

Grant.  He responds.  Grant is from Ogden, old friend from high school, divorced.  And this was totally out of the blue.

I need a favor.  He says.

Me:  What's that?

Come with me to a Halloween party tomorrow.  I'm in a pinch.  He texts back.

In a pinch, huh?  Why's that?  I ask.  Because I haven't heard from Grant in months.  Months people.  And I hate to be his last option when he's "in a pinch."  The last I heard came in an email divorce "announcement" for lack of a better word.  Which I thought was kind of tacky, but really, how else do you get the word out so that people can avoid that awkward  "Where's your wife?"   "Oh, we're divorced now," conversation?

Please, Harper.  I'm begging.  Which is followed by a picture text of Grant on his knees begging and let me tell you, he doesn't look too shabby, that Grant.  He lost 129 pounds of blonde bimbo and that does a lot for a guy's looks.

So long story short, I am going to Halloween party numero dos tomorrow night.  Why can I not return to my reclusive state?  I am not a bowler.  I am not a party-goer.  I stay at home and enjoy my quiet peaceful life.  I hang with my family and girlfriends occasionally.  I don't go to parties.  Please let this one work out differently than last week's.  I guess it is time for a new pair of wings.