Immoderately Moderate

We had some friends over on Tuesday. It put  me back a day preparing for Thanksgiving dinner, but our Thanksgiving was quiet, so it worked out.

During the course of dinner, I happened to describe myself as a liberal. Our friend Daniel said “You know, Elizabeth, you’re not. You’re a moderate. Don’t try to hide it.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I am.”

Chris, who had been drinking wine as well as a vile concoction I kicked up involving Cointreau, amaretto, vodka, lemon juice, fresh citron, and maraschino cherries, chimed in, “She’s not that either. She’s a contrarian.”

There’s a Tom Swiftie lurking in there, but I could not put my finger on it then,  nor can I now.

Instead, I whined. “Well. I think it’s important to examine many different points of view,” and hid behind my wine glass. It was VERY good wine to go with the 2″ filets Chris had grilled up.

Gale shot me a look and said, in her sultriest voice, “Candy is bad.”

I’m the mom who grumps at candy in birthday party favor bags, and the only reason I fill up my son’s birthday favor bags with it is that his birthday is 2 weeks after Halloween and I want to get it out of my house. I don’t even deny to my kids that I throw away as much of their candy as I can get away with, and they can’t so much as look at a fruit roll-up without getting a lecture on the science of adhesion and microbiotic activity  resulting in tooth decay. I’m worse than a candy grinch. I’m a candy killjoy, and Gale knows this.

What could I say?

“Candy is good for toilet training. Candy is an important part of social ritual, as in piñatas and trick-or-treating. Making candy at home is fun, and good science,” I monotoned.

It’s true. I am a contrarian disguised as a moderate. I’m thankful for friends who have my number.

What are you thankful for?