About seven years ago John and I decided that Thanksgiving weekend offered the perfect time for a little getaway. Our plan was to spend T-Day with my Mom and then leave the kiddoes there with her through the weekend while we spent a few days away together.
Our plan was inspired by our desire to attend LosCon--an annual SF writers/fan convention in the LA area. Connie Willis, a favorite author, would be the keynote speaker. We would attend various panels and session during the day and retire to a hotel room together each evening. A perfect plan took shape and we soon found ourselves on our way to Burbank for the Con.
I’d never been to a Con before, and it was an educational experience in many ways. First of all, I got to stalk Connie Willis, which was way cool. I went to every session and booksigning. Hung on her every word. I am sure that by the end of the weekend she was mighty glad to be away from my freaky fan self. Another thing I learned is that I am way too suburb-bland for the Con crowd. No Darth Maul makeup, spacesuit, or RenFaire outfit for me. My typical jeans & tee style made me stick out like a sore thumb. And boy did I feel left out...
But the greatest learning experience of the event occurred at the ice cream social on the last night. John and I got our bowls of ice cream w/numerous toppings and were scanning the large ballroom for famous authors to stalk (unfortunately Connie seemed to have retired early that night). The room was pretty full—with small groups chatting animatedly throughout. I felt a bit lost and lonely, despite the fact that John was right next to me. I knew this just wasn’t _my crowd_. I had no witticisms to insert into the various conversations.
It was about then that I felt a strange wet and prickly sensation on my right arm. To my horror I looked down and realized that there was a werewolf (or what, I have come to presume, was a man dressed as a werewolf) on all fours below me. And he was gnawing on my arm. With his decidedly pointy canine teeth. After a swift intake of breath and a dropping of my ice cream spoon I looked to John for help. He hesitated. Unsure of the protocol for extricating a hairy humanoid creature from his wife’s body.
Though it felt like an eternity, within seconds John settled on a course of action. He leaned over and began stroking the creature on the head, scratching a bit around his ears.
“There’s a nice doggie,” he said sweetly.
Almost immediately the wolf disengaged from my arm and shifted his attention towards enjoying John’s affection. His long pink tongue hung out of his mouth as he panted with pleasure. I backed away, with John following moments afterwards. The two of us quickly headed through the back door, tossing the remainder of our ice cream into the trash on the way out, and not stopping until we were outside in the hotel parking lot.
“Nice Doggie? Someone bites me and you say nice doggie!?”
“Hey, I didn’t want him to turn on _me_. You’ve got to be careful with wild creatures.”
“Yah...right.”
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2 comments:
Uhm ... eeew. Anyone who licks me has to pass a breath-test. Dogs, f whatever variety, get an automatic veto.
Connie Willis? Really? And I thought I had such sympatico with the Remy's. There's a lot of things I'll put up with in this world, but fandom of The Doomsday Book is definitely not one of them. We're through! Through I say!
So, see you on Sunday?
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