Low flying bats…and the subtle taste of maple syrup…

Thursday’s semi-co-ed Girl’s Night had a subtitle of: Appetizers and Alcohol. My measly hummus was very quickly overshadowed by everyone else’s contributions. The robustness of Terica’s Rotel and Velveeta nacho dip (yes folks, she used sausage in the dip---dip, dip horray!) was exactly the base coat that our stomachs needed for the beer and sangria we were chugging. Cookie’s dark chocolate ice cream bars with nibs of cookies were teasingly talked about and then stuffed in the freezer to be saved for the piece de resistance dessert that they were (and strangely enough, later when we did eat them, tasted like the most subtle maple syrup). Then Jimmy had to throw down the shnickity schnack gauntlet with his famous popcorn and M&Ms (damn, but is there anything that M&Ms won’t go with?), so the stakes were raised. Next, Eric came waltzing down the lane with his appetizer plated and ready to present and held quite level (which would have been a bother to one who is walking down the lane with appetizer held level and aloft on an steamy Alabama summer evening that Faulkner would’ve described as distilled and hyperdistilled), an appetizer which reminded me of my days as a young girl in Provence (just kidding, been to France, but never to Provence)…ovals of baguette, topped with a schmear of snooty European butter, sesame oil, ginger (which was hidden quite well), kosher salt, and thinly sliced radishes (See exhibit A). Again, the appetizer ante was upped. And then Liz, who was late BECAUSE of her appetizer, the appetizer that made us gasp when it was revealed, the appetizer created especially for us by Liz-mate Chris (Chris, who could not make it to the semi-co-ed Girl’s Night because of prior obligations, but who sent in his stead the nicest and quite possibly the most delectable salutations ever): skewers of tender, moist, grilled-to-perfection chicken with a yummy peanut dipping sauce…Liz brought the house down. It was almost too much…almost. With bats careening over our heads, out to find their own appetizers (evidently at someone else’s house from the looks of the mosquito bites on Eric’s ankles), some of the revelers took refuge indoors (the Dame and Sha’nille); the rest of us braved the busy air traffic and just kept our heads low. Happily, food was eaten and drinks were drunk. Last call was at ten, but Kris, with heart full of happiness, would not send us away from his table. The last of us left by foot and by car at approximately eleven.

The next day: Quiet Catoe Parsonage. Birds singing outside. Mrs. Catoe, preparing for her morning hair ablutions, makes a horrific discovery: An off-course bat had somehow found its way into the kitchen (possibly slipping in amongst the merry revelers as they made their raucous exit through the house the night before) and was hiding (unsuccessfully) under the soaking Crock Pot. There are no words for such a discovery, only loud verbal exclamations. A broom-wielding Mr. Catoe makes bat-meat out of the intruder.

Later that day, a small and weary group Fleegans met Downtown for lunch: Liz, who was in charge of picking up Jaimie, but forgot to stop for her; me, distracted and hard of hearing from entertaining 120 children at the Summer Reading Program; Nathan, whose charge (the Etowah County computer system) had up and quit that morning; Laura, frazzled from the bat-under-the-Crock-Pot incident only hours earlier; Kris, frash from a “special” Moxie Salon client; Eric, via text message because “news broke” and prevented him from joining us in body; and Jimmy who was about to go home (I ask, who gets to go home at Noon on a Friday?), and was the first to notice that his wife Jaimie was missing from the group. I looked around the table at one point and thought that we all were sporting the appearance of having been hit by a truck. How fortunate we were that it was Friday…

There will be a farewell party for the bat colony this Thursday for Girl’s Night. In honor of the bat extraction, I think it fitting that everyone wear something black for the occasion…