I have a friend who’s sick, and she asked us to make her laugh. I’ll do my best.

I’m putting on make-up, which if you know me is hilarious right there. I need to concentrate pretty hard so I don’t stick the mascara brush in my eye, and Rose is hovering.

“Why can’t you read me the book? Why are you going out? Please. I said please. I want you to read the book. Read the book. The book. Can’t you just read the book?”

Then she drops the book on her toe.

“Ow. Ow, ow, ow. My toe, ow.”

She goes out to inspect her misery in the hall mirror. Then she throws the book down the stairs. Where it hits David on the face.

David is now screaming in shock. Rose is crying and screaming in mortification. John is trying to comfort David on the bottom of the stairs, de facto blocking my way out of the house. I go tell Rose she can give David an “I’m sorry it was an accident hug.” The volume level in our house is still quite high, so I suggest they can all walk me to my event.

Except we step outside, and it is pouring.

I get out of the house for what I had billed in my mind as a fabulous evening of scintillating conversation and giggling. It turns out to be a sales pitch for a multi-level marketing company. Can’t I just buy the hand soap? Please? I really liked the hand soap.