So I neglected to mention the knitwear trends spotted on the mall-a-thon: sherbet colors and cowl necklines. I was very tempted by a happy striped sweater - basic cotton in sherbet stripes - then remembered I have Cotton-ease in my stash in those exact colors, left from my ill-conceived granny afghan plan. The granny will be assembled in small child size and donated to charity. The leftover yarn will be a roll-neck sweater for me.

Extremely well-written and enjoyable blog: mimi smartypants found via a link from another well-written and enjoyable blog: Everybody Loves Saturday Night.

I went to the party at my husband's best friend's house last night, and lasted about an hour and a half. God, it was like dental surgery - nitrous oxide would have been most welcome. A dental analogy is apt, the jug white zin was taking the enamel off my teeth. I must preface this by saying that these are very, very nice people - I've known this guy for nearly 20 years, he was my husband's best friend and is a truly great guy. His new wife is adorable, I like her too. I have to say that up front before I start ranting and swearing about them.

My husband has been gone over five months. Isn't there a statute of limitations on treating me like the Bwave Wittle Widder Woman? Because there is nothing on earth that pisses me off more. I cannot describe to you how much I hate it - the skin-crawling revulsion I feel when somebody gets in my face and gives me a Deep Meaningful Look and asks HOW I'm DOING??? It irritates the shit out of me because no matter what I say, it's not enough. No matter what I do, it's not enough. I'm doing fine, I say - I have a new job I love, refinanced the house, the kids are doing well, we're fine. A positive, upbeat report gets a Deep Soulful Look of Concern. H teared up, Wife of H bit her lips constantly, like we were standing around the funeral parlor at his wake, instead of at a holiday party months later. They kept thanking me for coming, and how good it is to see me, and oh, H was so worried about me, and gosh, I look so good. No, actually I look like hell, I'm puffy with PMS and too many margaritas and other indulgences, and too much holiday junk food, and I'm tired because I've been insanely busy for weeks, but gosh, thanks anyway. It was like this was the first time I'd crawled out from under the bed and left the house since he died, and it must have been a huge act of bravery on the wittle widder woman's part. What a good, bwave wittle widder woman she is. What a boring, nauseating wittle evening it was. It's not just me projecting and being pissy, either - my son saw all of this and agreed that it was enough to drive a person crazy.

The all time groaner was that there was a woman there whose husband is also dying of renal cancer, and Wife of H had to INTRODUCE us! Like, who the fuck am I now, Oprah? I don't know what to say to a stranger about her dying husband, it's no easier for me than it is for anybody else! Are we supposed to have some sort of support group session near the bar at a holiday party? I had no desire to start a discussion of the horrors of end stage renal cancer over the buffet table with a stranger, it struck me as wildly inappropriate. I can talk clinical cancer shop like an oncologist at this point, but who the hell WANTS to? Besides, I don't know this woman's mental state, maybe she would go to pieces. Or maybe, like me, she's sick to death of everything to do with death and just wants a pleasant evening out and a frigging break! This woman, whoever she is, is immersed in dying husband hell 24/7, let her have a drink and eat some shrimp like a normal person! I don't know what I did say, something trite and brief, I am sure, then I started inching away. H's wife, the other woman, and a couple of other women just stood there looking at me - I have no idea what I was supposed to do for them. So I had to stand there like a goddamn zoo animal "Step right up, see the Bwave Wittle Widder Woman! Watch her cope, isn't she something?" for a few more minutes, then I practically bolted for the door. It was like, 8:30. I'm sure they were shaking their heads that She's Obviously Just Not Ready To Be Out In Public Yet. Poor Dear. Meanwhile, I'm shaking my head, not sure whether to laugh or rant - so I'm doing both. The thing about this whole widowhood gig is no matter what you do, there are those who will forever see you as "Widow Of...." and your husband's friends are definitely in that category. Thank GOD I have my own friends and my own life and I don't have only "our" friends hovering over me. Man, that would have so totally sucked.