I was in New York and ran in to Jennifer Aniston and Madonna. We got to talking and I finally said, "Hey, do you guys want to come over?"
"Okay!" they exclaimed.
So they came to my house. My messy, noisy house.
They didn't care, in fact, they loved it. We chatted in the living room, laughed at the kids' antics and, basically, had a great time. After a while, Jen (we were super close by then, so I called her Jen) asked if she could make dinner. "Alright," I agreed. She started scrounging around in my cupboards, pulling out a random-seeming jars and packages. She asked if I had egg noodles. I had to go downstairs to get them.
When I came back up, George Clooney was leaning on the counter, visiting with Madonna and Jennifer Aniston while they cooked dinner. "Oh, hi, George," I greeted, nonchalantly.
"I hope you don't mind my dropping in."
"Oh, no. It's fine. The kids love when you come over."
The kids, indeed, were having a great time. They were playing with our guests and having fun, without being obnoxious. I watched them for a while and felt proud that they were mine.
In the middle of all of this, I jumped up from the stool I was sitting on by the counter and exclaimed, "I've got to get my camera! If I blog about this without pictures, no one will believe me!" Encouraged by my visitors, I ran looking for my camera.
When I came back, they were gone.
"No one will believe me," I lamented aloud. Then I heard giggling from the other room. They had run off, but not far. We laughed at the good-natured joke, the children enjoying the prank as much as the adults.
And, guess what? Even though my camera was in my hand, I forgot to take a picture.