C. was about to walk in our door the Friday night before Easter when he was waylayed by Roseanne, our next door neighbor. She invited us over for Easter dinner. C. told her thank you, and gave some noncommittal answer, knowing full well that I would probably not be into it. He was right--when he told me about it, I immediately started thinking of excuses we could use to get out of it. Basically, in case you didn't already know, I'm terribly anti-social. It's a combination of things--my shyness, fear of feeling uncomfortable, and a feeling of knowing that most likely I will have little or nothing in common with most people. The funny thing is, when forced into unfamiliar situations, I do really well. But I usually don't enjoy it. And C. is anti-social as well--born and raised in an anti-social family, but he's still not as bad as I am.

Anyway. We put the whole thing out of our minds during the weekend. Sunday evening came, and we didn't hear from them. So imagine our surprise when Roseanne's husband Bill rang our doorbell just as we sat down to watch "The Sopranos." C. went to the door to talk to him, and he would absolutely not take no for an answer. We didn't really have a choice. C. told him we'd be over.

I grumpily hit "Record" on the VCR and grumbled petulantly as I put my shoes on. C. apologized, but pointed out that Bill wouldn't let us say no, and well, we should get to know them since we'll be their neighbors for many years and they might be nice, and we don't have to stay that long, maybe a half hour, twenty minutes tops.

Well, okay, let's get this over with.

Roseanne greeted us at the door. She was sporting a slightly matted brunette wig, a festive red blouse, slacks, and a big smile. We entered the spacious living room crowded with family members. Roseanne introduced us to all of them, and we stood in the doorway for about ten minutes, just shaking hands. Then she showed us to the dining room, where the table was laid out with a picked-over selection of cookies, cake, cannoli, and shrimp. Amongst the chaos, Roseanne (the consummate Italian Mama) offered us something to drink and told us to eat, eat. I eyed the table, wondering exactly what I could eat. Shrimp? NO WAY. Who knows how long they've been sitting out. Cannoli? Well, I'm embarassed to admit it, but I don't rightly know what's in a cannoli. I thought possibly it had dairy in it, and I couldn't risk it for the same reason as the shrimp. Okay, a cookie. I selected an innocent sugar cookie and followed Roseanne through the rest of the house, C. sticking right behind me.

As we proceeded down the hall to the kitchen, a small girl, probably about three or four, ran past. She was giggling hysterically and was naked but for her little underpants. Roseanne turned to us, adjusted her wig slightly, and said, "She was dressed up so cute earlier, but then she insisted on taking all her clothes off!" I laughed and said everybody's gotta get comfortable somehow.

On into the kitchen we went, where Roseanne announced to Bill that we were here, and to find us a chair. The kitchen was only slightly less full than the living room. We soon discovered why: Bill had a full karaoke setup in the back of the kitchen, complete with mini rotating disco ball, colored light system, microphones, speakers, and a TV mounted into the wall and tilted at just the right angle, broadcasting the lyrics. A well-dressed man was standing in the corner, soulfully crooning his own version of "Somewhere Out There." Roseanne remarked to us that these get-togethers tend to get a little rowdy and if they were ever too noisy, to just let them know. C. said he always figured we'd be the loud ones, but Roseanne assured us that she was sure they were louder. I told Bill that all he needed to complete his setup was a smoke machine. He said he did have one, actually. It was currently out on loan. I thought I was going to die laughing.

We were told to have a seat, so we did. We chit-chatted with Bill, Roseanne, and the few other karaoke spectators sitting around the kitchen table. For some reason, the karaoke people kept trying to cajole C. into singing one. He smiled and shook his head bashfully. I got a real kick out of this, since I happen to know that when we go out for karaoke, I can hardly get him off the stage. Eventually, the whole karaoke-singing group got together and sang Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York." Someone handed C. a microphone, so he gamely joined in.

Once that was over, C. leaned over to me and whispered, "Hey, are you ready to go?" I was surprised that he was initiating the break, since he usually makes me do it. Truthfully, I was having more fun than I ever expected to have. These people were friendly and wacky. It reminded me of the days when I was small, when my Mom, Dad, and I spent a lot of time with the crazy, drunken, country-lovin' white-trash side of the family. It was great chaotic fun.

We were somehow able to quickly extract ourselves from Bill and Roseanne's house, thanking them for the visit. On the way back to our house next door, I laughed about everything we'd seen and I haven't stopped laughing about it since.