I guess maybe I should mention I at least got out twice, once to go get a sandwich at my favorite little bakery and another to take Abby on an errand of mercy. Abby was only in the basement for seven hours, the amateur, although she did spend about two of those serving, which is like seven months in dog years.**
Anyway, the whole ordeal is really kind of terrible, but also sort of great. Mom and I got to catch up, and solve a few of the world's problems (we're SO SMART), and laugh a lot, and chat with people we don't always have the time to talk to. So that's fun. And then Abby livened things up quite a bit, especially when she decided we needed Christmas music and started serenading us with traditional carol/rap hybrid mixes. Complete with air guitar.
Johanna was with us for the last hour and a half, and in that time, she joined in on the Christmas Rap with Abby, wrote a song about our booth to the tune of Frosty the Snowman, got mistaken as a dinner server, drank eight cups of water, fetched more water for a coughing gentleman, and completed several rounds of self-taught Irish Step Dancing.
By the time we got out of there at 6:30 p.m., I was beyond done and I won't lie, I kind of ditched my mother. I was like, see ya, Nance, I'm out, and I have a sneaking suspicion she had to clean up all by herself. Oh, she'll forgive me, but I still feel kind of bad. I was just hungry is all. I can't eat ham dinners with boxed mashed potatoes and gravy, that's why. (Allergies! Are super fun!)
Huh. I'd hoped to end this with myself not looking like a jerk, but I see that is not in the cards. Damn words! They're so unforgiving.
*Abby used to call crafts "craps" when she was a toddler. I think she was on to something, honestly.