Sour Grapes

A friend, a good friend, called me today and surprised me with the news that she was a little angry with me. She had heard through the grapevine that I had said something unkind about her child. My heart sank; not only do I love this friend, but I adore her child, who is a frequent and much-loved playdate for Calder. What she heard had either been grossly misconstrued or wrongfully embellished in the manner of the old game of “telephone” -- but still, my friend had spent part of her day wondering why someone she knew and trusted had betrayed her child’s sweet spirit in this way. Thankfully, she is an understanding and patient friend, and we were able to untwist what had happened and repair the rift. I am grateful to her for her kindness in the face of my horrified tears, but I’m really pissed that this town so often misuses its grapevine. No one ever calls to say “Hey! I heard from xxx that yyy said you looooooved my Oscar gown the other night.” or “She told me that he told her that you said I make the best blintzes. Thanks for the compliment!”

Instead, word of how I tripped and fell flat on my face and yelled “SHIT” in the children’s section of the library is dinner conversation at warp speed.

Stupid grapevine. The least it could do is produce a decent Pinot.

Thank you A, for being the wonderful friend that you are. Give those kiddos a squeeze for me, I love them like crazy!