My parents were so excited that I was finishing my doctorate they wanted to throw me a graduation party. I was not digging the idea of a graduation party, but my parents were like kids at Christmas, so I obliged. Mostly, I just wanted to be done with school and not think about it anymore, I certainly did not want to think about the future for that matter, and a graduation party would not allow me that luxury. The life of a zombie seemed very appealing around that time. Zombies only have to worry about one thing: eating flesh and brains. They don't have to worry about finishing a terminal degree and then proving to themselves, and others, that it was worth all of the hard work and money. Zombies are lucky.
Anyway, the parents were in full party mode when I got home. They were bragging to everyone they bumped into, even the cashier at Walmart got an ear full. Poor guy.
This party gave me hives. The last thing I wanted to do was spend 6 hours talking to people who were going to ask THE dreaded questions:
"So, what next?"
"Do you have a job?"
"What exactly does a doctorate in flute get you?"
Just thinking about those questions was enough to make my stomach churn. My stomach was already going to be put through the ringer due to the cheese table. My dad was dead set on having a large table with gourmet cheeses galore. Did I mention I'm lactose intolerant?
So, the party started and it was actually bearable. I had gotten my spiel down to a science and was able to answer all of those dreaded questions without breaking a sweat. I was almost enjoying be surrounded by my friends, loved ones, and those random family members whom I hadn’t seen in years and who kept saying my name slowly as if they were trying to remember it each time they spoke.
Anyway, the parents were in full party mode when I got home. They were bragging to everyone they bumped into, even the cashier at Walmart got an ear full. Poor guy.
This party gave me hives. The last thing I wanted to do was spend 6 hours talking to people who were going to ask THE dreaded questions:
"So, what next?"
"Do you have a job?"
"What exactly does a doctorate in flute get you?"
Just thinking about those questions was enough to make my stomach churn. My stomach was already going to be put through the ringer due to the cheese table. My dad was dead set on having a large table with gourmet cheeses galore. Did I mention I'm lactose intolerant?
So, the party started and it was actually bearable. I had gotten my spiel down to a science and was able to answer all of those dreaded questions without breaking a sweat. I was almost enjoying be surrounded by my friends, loved ones, and those random family members whom I hadn’t seen in years and who kept saying my name slowly as if they were trying to remember it each time they spoke.
Then bam. Out of nowhere….
“Congratulations on getting your doctorate... are you ever going to get married?”
Seriously?
After asking me this question, my aunt just stared at me with a sweet-as-honey look of judgment on her face.
Just smile and respond sweetly. Whatever you do, don’t tell her to piss off.
“… Thanks…. umm, you know, I would totally love to get married. Unfortunately for me, Kansas City is like the San Francisco of the Midwest.”
Blink. Blank stare.
“Everyone is gay there,” I whispered to my conservative aunt.
“Really? Are you serious?” she gasped.
“Yup. Gay. Everyone.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Sigh, I know. Alas, I had to settle for a doctorate.”
I followed that statement with a little pirouette and shot across the lawn to the wine table before she could realize I was messing with her.
Best graduation party EVER.
P.S. Walking Dead is an awesome zombie show. Watch it. Think of me.
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