As a result of my recent knee surgery, over the past month or so, I’ve been mostly housebound.  On the few occasions where I’ve been in social situations, I’ve noticed something about myself.  Other than responding to questions about my surgery and recuperation, I pretty much have nothing of interest to say.  I’ve become a bore.

I don’t doubt that even before the knee debacle there were people with whom I engaged who didn’t find my presence exactly scintillating but what I now notice is that even I don’t have so much fun being with me. The well of pleasure I took in hanging out with myself has started to run dry.

My descent into becoming a totally un-engaging person has been accompanied by an ennui, a boredom which has been especially hard for me to shake.  When I’ve mentioned this to some friends, a few suggested that with all the time I seem to have on my hands (since I do nothing but ice my knee) I could spend more time writing this blog. Which, on paper, makes sense.  But the truth is, very little happens in the part of my apartment where I’m ensconced that’s worth writing about.

So, when I made plans last week with my girlfriend, Lebasi, to go out for dinner I was pretty excited. It happened to be, as (bad) luck would have it, on Halloween. We decided to walk down to the restaurant which is a few avenue blocks away. But what I didn’t count on was the throngs of people/families in the streets. Apparently, it’s been like this in Park Slope for some time now. But since I’ve spent the last number of Halloweens hiding under my desk or in my car parked inside my garage, the explosion of humanity on the streets has escaped me.

Because I was so worried that some little super-hero or princess would run into my brand-new knee, Lebasi ran interference for me as we made our way to the restaurant.  The trip was very daunting and I arrived at the restaurant with an even greater eagerness than usual (if possible) to have an intimate experience with a martini glass.

About an inch into my glass, I starting to regain some sense of equanimity.  Lebasi and I ordered dinner at the bar and were in the midst of eating when, without warning, several families of trick-or-treaters blew into the restaurant creating a tumult which was completely at odds with my vision of a lovely dinner. This went on for what seemed like days (but was actually about five minutes—  a window into my soul). Unfortunately (for me . . . and for whoever is with me), I have a fairly simple rule: if I’m dining at a restaurant where the entrees are more than $7.99, I pretty much expect an aggravation-free experience.  Which was exactly what was not happening.

So, I went over to these families and asked their addresses.  I said that I’d like to stop by their houses sometime while they’re having dinner. And I’d like to bring my grandkids; maybe with some of their friends. It shouldn’t be more than six or seven kids . . . nine, at most. Would that be okay?

Of course, that’s not what happened. (Maybe in a year or so.) Instead, I stewed or complained to Lebasi.  Or stewed and complained. Which, apparently, is not that attractive. Although she had some sense of my grinchiness from reading some of my blog posts, I think Lebasi had the mistaken impression that I had exaggerated for dramatic effect. Now the (black) cat is out of the bag. And I have some serious ground to make up. I told her that, going forward, I’d try to embrace the holiday. But next Halloween is a long time away.  So what I’m doing now is looking around for just the right outfit for Arbor Day. Sounds like fun!





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