the Dalaverse

I got invited to my dad's book group meeting tonight in the capacity of caterer. I brought the cake and I helped the host's wife in the kitchen, where she and I ate while the book group sat around the larger table in the dining room. There's no hard feelings - they're friends that wanted to see each other, and I liked catching up with her. We talked about daytime talk shows, MASH and its laugh track, women by themselves, bad books recently read, and a little bit of poetry. She said that the skin on my chest - the dress I wore was modestly low cut and still well below my neck - was an amazing white, pale, smooth, like something in an old poem about describing beautiful women.

She also suggested I'd be good as a special education teacher, and when I said I didn't have the patience for more than one kid, she said I could do one-on-one. I know how hard that work is, and found it deeply touching she thinks so highly of me. It's not something I think I'll actively pursue, and it's still quite touching.

Everyone loved the cake I brought. Two people asked for slices to take home and share, one person asked for a second slice to eat right there, and two more asked for slices for their breakfasts. I was told it was sublime and that I outdid myself; I replied that next time I'd simply have to do myself, which got a chuckle. One of the other members drove there instead of walking or using public transit, so my dad and I got a lift back to our place. A gentle end to a nice night.