Out to Dinner with Mitsy

Alex (10), Skye (6), and I (42, but that's just a number) went out to dinner last night. Not with their imaginary friend but mine.

Mitsy joined us for dessert somewhere between the third or fourth trip to the ice cream bar. We ate well beyond our needs, especially the ice cream. Afterall, it was a Chinese buffet and this is the Midwest, Home of Overeaters. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

We asked our imaginary friend all kinds of questions while holding imaginary cigarettes. I admit, I started it. I picked up a chopstick and asked "Mitsy, however do you get chocolate ice cream out of a white cotton shirt?"

Soon after, Mitsy was barraged with all kinds of questions that you'd find answers to in Helpful Hints from Helloise. Just as she was about to close her mouth around a forkful of peppered shrimp, someone would interrupt Mitsy's meal with yet another query. Eventually the questions turned in the "pushing the envelope" direction. Answers to which would more likely be found in a book written by Tony Soprano than by Helloise because Helloise probably never had the need to dispose of a dead body. Or if she did, she wouldn't rat herself out in her own book.

Ice cream makes me do terrible things like continuously hold fake cigarettes in my hand in front of my children and pretend to be "a smoker". And to allow the content of questions for our guest of honor to go from the simple, coffee stains in carpet, to the gory, blood stains on the ceiling. But after tonight I know for sure my children will not cross the line I most fear, in spite of my fondness for fake smoking in front of them and talking to Mitsy in an English accent, and that is them becoming smokers themselves.

We waltzed arm-in-arm through the parking lot and lo and behold, just a few feet from our minivan, there on the asphalt was a plastic cigarette holder! I said "Oh my God! A plastic cigarette holder! We hit the jackpot!" and took a step toward it, dragging the boys on either arm so they could see up close the treasure the gods have left for us. Was it the gods or was Mitsy really there in the restaurant, not just in spirit? Was this evidence to let us know she really exists and I was right on the money with my Pall Mall butt with red lipstick musings?!? It has been decades since I created her. She could easily have smoked herself to death and gone on to the other side by now.

I could only know for sure if this filter was dropped by Mitsy upon close examination. If it smelled like Chinese, think of the conversations we could have about our imaginary Mitsy. Sometimes, however, circumstances beyond our control prevent us from uncovering life's mysteries. When I stepped in closer, Little Skye lunged back and yelled "Nooooooo! Mommy!" I think he thought I was going to begin my disgusting cigarette butt collection again. He knew I was crossing the line with my humor and was perhaps afraid, thinking "If she's done it before, she might do it again." He pulled back on my arms and dug his feet into the ground. Even if I were insane and I really wanted to start a cigarette butt collection as a 42 year-old mother of two young impressionable boys, Skye was NOT going to stand for that in his home.

I slept very well last night.