Storm-stayed

Let me just say right now: I did NOT want to go out on New Year's Eve.As a certified, bona-fide loner, I hate parties. Always have. Always will.But DNA Boy's Friends were having their annual big New Year's Eve Bash, and because I am his wife and love him, alas, I said I would go, out of good wifery.Or good wifieness.Or whatever it's called.I did suggest he go and have fun, and I would stay home and watch Law and Order and babysit the dogs, but he said: "I'm not going out without my WIFE!!" And as I could tell he really, really wanted to go, and I had read somewhere that marriage involves something called "compromise", I said I would go.This involved serious planning. Because we live in the country. So far out in the country, I call the roads "Plow It Yourself Roads." Because that is what they are.And Baby Juno, the special dog, the Favorite Son, could not stay in the country for three hours by himself, because he got run over twice (BY ACCIDENT!!!!) and is a very emotionally sensitive dog. Whereas Baby Buster and Bitchy Tessa are not. Allegedly.So here was the plan: Daddy would come home New Year's Eve afternoon, feed Baby Buster, Bitchy Tessa, and Emotionally Sensitive Juno. Then he would pack Emotionally Sensitive Juno in the car with all his leads and good-night toys, such as his Smiley-Face Man and his Man With the Hat, (pronounced 'at), toys which he simply cannot sleep without, to go to Grammie's House, which is Crestwood House Bed and Breakfast, for the evening.There, Emotionally Sensitive Juno would get a manicure and a pedicure and a brushing and a fussing and a sausage roll, while we would go to the New Year's Eve Party, and Baby Buster and Bitchy Tessa would, I don't know, watch Law And Order?Then, we would sleep, our own selves, at Crestwood House Bed and Breakfast. And the next morning, we would gather up Emotionally Sensitive Juno and go home to Baby Buster and Bitchy Tessa.It didn't work out that way. Stupid blizzard.We started phoning a cab at 2 a.m. But no cabs were answering. Busy, busy, busy. At 4:30 a.m., we gave up and our lovely hosts gave us the couch. Actually, DNA Boy got the couch. I got the "Hannah Montana" five-year-old girl air mattress.The next morning, as I was sleeping in my basement room on the Hannah Montana air mattress, with my little blanket, I was awakened rudely by the five-year-old owner of said air bed. And the family's sweet little dog, Brownie. She looked at me, quite shocked, ran upstairs and said: "Mommy, there's a lady in my Hannah Montana Air Bed."This was 8 a.m. I phoned a cab. They said: "Sorry, our cabs are off the road. There's a blizzard outside."Did I mention that for this New Year's Eve Party I had decided to dress up? I was wearing a lovely slinkey black evening gown, with fabulous silk panty-hose, high-heel shoes, and no bra.Stupid, stupid girl.And although I am socially awkward, and generally do not like people at all, my hosts were very very very kind to me all day, and really nice, as I rationed my last few cigarettes and worried about getting runs in my silk pantyhose and thought such things as: "What kind of idiot goes out in a blizzard warning wearing high heels? And why do I have to smoke in the garage? And why am I not wearing a bra?"Mainly, though, I worried about my poor two doggies at home. . .The blizzard raged, ALL DAY!!! No cabs, no plows, nothing.I couldn't phone my two sweet abandoned dogs at home, because they didn't know how to answer the phone! I would have told them: "Mommy has been an idiot, but she will be home as soon as she can."Instead, I worried about them. And when that cute dog, Brownie, came up to me for his cuddles, I wanted to cry. Instead, I rubbed his gums. He's only a little baby, and he's losing his teeth."He likes you," my hostess said.Eventually, I realized there was no fighting it. The blizzard was the blizzard. So I lay down on the couch with my evening gown and silky panty-hose and watched "Cops" on cable all day. And when Brownie ran up to me and spilled my glass of water with his tail (four times) I rubbed his gums and worried about Baby Buster and Bitchy Tessa. What were they thinking? What were they doing? Did they feel abandoned? Unloved? Would someone find them and call the SPCA? What kind of mother abandons two dogs, alone, at home, in the house?Night fell. The hostess gave me a pair of pajamas.And as I went to sleep, again, on my Hanna Montana air mattress, I dreamed of my poor, starving, probably dead, probably emotionally ruined, babies, at home. . .The next morning, as I smoked one of my last three cigarettes and the gracious host, whose boots I was now wearing in the garage, offered to drive us to Crestwood House Bed and Breakfast, which was only several miles away.We went with him, kind man. Probably not so kind. Probably relieved. The storm had cleared and he could get these people out of his house.Our Juno was SO HAPPY to see us. He packed up his bags, including his Smiley Face Man, and said: "let's go home, mum and dad!"Yet, I could not relax until I saw my own sweet puppies. They had probably died by now, of starvation.The drive home, I worried. Worried about what might confront us. Oh, yes, I knew they would have peed and pooped on the floor, but what else might they have done? Committed suicide? Cried themselves to death? Called 911?As we came around the corner, I saw the house was still there. That was a good sign.We opened the door. No dogs. Normally, they knock the door down with happiness. . .That was a Bad sign.Oh, but there they came. Yawning and depressed. They had given up hope, apparently.The house wasn't so bad. . . .Except, except, that big, monster Barf on the living room rug. . . It looked like, what? Pastry? Bread dough? It didn't smell bad. Just a big lump of. . .what? Flour?Pastry?Where would they find flour or pastry or bread?That's when I saw the empty baking powder can on the floor. Left on the counter from my meat pie baking of last week. . . .You think bread and water is bad?Poor dogs. . . .I took my party dress off and went to bed. . . with my babies.No runs in my pantyhose, either. We'll just rinse them out for the next New Year's Eve party. . .