Slumber Party

            This is the story of how I ended up hosting a slumber party at my house on Friday night. It was a classic mix-up. A he-said, she-said, no-I-never-said sort of thing.

Here’s the back-story. I have plain cement floors and they get dusty very quickly, especially in dry season. Most people here wash their floors every single day, using a bucket, soap, and rags. They scrub the rags over every inch of every room in truly back-breaking labor. It’s similar to the downward dog for all you yoga-lovers. You spread your legs, touch your hands to the floor, and then move backwards through the room making figure-eights with the rags as you go. I do not do it. I have tried it, but it’s really not very enjoyable. You sweat, your body aches, and my technique is totally off and it takes me forever. Instead, I sweep, and I leave the actual “dry cleaning,” as they call it here, to the neighborhood children. The kids are all responsible for this duty in their homes and are normally beyond thrilled to help me in mine where I give them treats and candy after the task. Two girls in particular normally come to help me. I asked them to come on Friday to help out and they agreed.

On Friday afternoon they showed up. They showed up with packs of clothes. That was my first clue. They came in an seemed a bit more excited than normal and eventually it came out that they were under the impression that they were going to sleep here. I started to explain that there was some sort of miscommunication, I was so sorry, but I had not planned on that, I wasn’t prepared… their faces absolutely sank. I was giving them the biggest letdown of their lives. “We asked our mothers,” they said. As if that somehow explained everything, as if that meant it had to happen. “Our mothers said yes.” And again with the sad faces and their mothers’ approval. It was crushing my heart. Look, I just didn’t prepare, I don’t have anything for you to eat, I don’t have a place for you to sleep… “We can sleep here on the floor. We aren’t hungry. We already ate.” I tried to say maybe we could do it a different time, but they just looked so crestfallen and devastated and on the verge of tears. How could I send them back to their mothers like that? How could I crush their hopes and dreams? I couldn’t. There was no way.  I finally gave in. I still am rather unclear what I said to make them think I wanted a sleepover. Looking back, I have no idea where I went wrong or what I said differently this time that induced a slumber party. Nevertheless, I agreed to my first sleepover with two 12-year-old girls. They were so excited though, that I couldn’t be very upset and just had to think, when else would this happen? We watched movies, they made drawings for me, they hung them up on my walls, they enjoyed popcorn for the first time ever, we made pancakes, they ate cake, we painted our nails (and no, they didn’t sleep on my floor, they slept on my couch). I know it made their week. And, truth be told, it also made mine.