During our photo shoot at Knuckle Toes' birthday party last Friday, I commented that it was a good thing that all of our friends weren't there that night, because we wouldn't all have fit on the stage, or in the picture. We all started naming off the people that were missing, and I calculated in my head just how many folks we hang out with on a regular basis, as well as the friends who we don't get to see as often as we'd like, but do join us on big nights out, or whenever they can.
There are twenty people in Wench's photo, and I know that there are a couple party-goers that are missing from it. They were probably smoking or urinating at picture time.
I decided to sit down, and make a list of all the people, mostly pub regulars, that I would invite to something BIG for myself, say a wedding, or my funeral or maybe my big 3-0. If all of those people showed up, and we took a group photo again, there would be 39 people. This does not include anyone from out of town, or people whom I only visit with outside The Pub, or any family members other than my brothers, who are also pub regulars, or any guests that these 39 people may bring along with them to my imaginary party.
Thirty-nine people. And I could very well be forgetting someone.
Now, I ask myself, how in the world can I, at least once a week, complain that I am lonely? Seems so silly all of a sudden, doesn't it?