The girls and I decided to go to the pick-up location (local coffee shop) early for cinnamon rolls and coffee. We were scheduled to meet “X” at 9am. On our way out the door (8am), my phone rang. It was a strange area code (925) so I ignored it.
8:05am- another call from a 415 area code. I answered the call.
X (in a tired, raspy voice): “Someone stole my phone last night and I just woke up”. I was 8am and he was four hours north of us– in San Francisco.
Me: “Don’t bother coming– we are going on with our day”.
A slew of emails transpired back and forth over the next few hours– he arrived for pick-up 6.5 hours after his scheduled pick-up time. He looked disheveled and smelled of alcohol.
Since his mother had been informed of his initial call and failure to show up for his visit, he was obligated to email her back (and cc me) explaining why he was late for a visit. To his mother, he can do no wrong. She is a living, breathing Pollyanna– in denial…unable to admit that her child has issues and wanting nothing more than a happy, cozy explanation for anything that resembles a problem.
He painted the prettiest of pictures– a dinner party the evening before…complete with cute doilies and tea cups where everyone was passing their phones around to share pictures of their children. His phone mistakenly ended up in a friend’s purse and he was home in bed, safe and sound by 11pm. This was his story and he was sticking to it.
The dinner parties that I’ve attended don’t end up with me hungover, unable to pick up my children, loosing my phone and looking like I’ve been wearing the same clothing for three days.