At least we got outside

Saturday, three of us agreed to join the hubby in his blueberry adventures. Granted, it was Tom's typical spur-of-the-moment invite thrown out five minutes after I'd awakened and made myself a coffee. He gave us ten minutes.

Me: "Maybe you should call the blueberry place to make sure they are open."

Tom: "Why wouldn't they be open?"

The blueberry farm is a good hour drive from our house, north of where Grammy Mary Anne lives, and I accompanied them only because he agreed to do a social distance visit with his mother after we picked blueberries. Typically, this trip begins in the early dawn hours, and we are usually the first wave of pickers. This time we didn't get there until noon, and I was already regretting my choice of a black shirt as the sun shone through my side of the car window, but alas, I could've saved myself some stress.

I'd like to say that I was kind enough not to point out the obvious, but we all know that didn't happen. Although I did keep it to three I-told-you-to-call (s).

None of us really complained because, well, the drive and conversation was different than our quarantine lifestyle. Yippee!

Grammy met us in her driveway, and we stayed six feet apart for an hour of chatting before Tom suggested we move to the pool area. There, we were able to sit--six feet apart--and we spent another two hours socializing. In between the chatting, Oleg and Tom disappeared into Grammy's house--wearing their masks--to work on her computer since she missed out on the family Zoom call a week ago. A neighbor, on her way back from cutting another neighbor's hair, took their place in our circle.

Eventually, the men returned, and when the neighbor found out they were computer gurus, she asked if they could help her hook up her printer. Darcy worked out an exchange--computer work for two haircuts as both men kept whining about their need for a barber--and off the three went, leaving the girls behind. That gave us plenty of time for girl gossip and men bitching.

It was almost four o'clock by the time they returned, and only Tom had taken the neighbor up on her haircutting. Oleg opted for him to go first, and then decided he'd stick with his professional barber. The women exchanged knowing looks, grateful we'd had our time alone to get things off our chests.

We washed down the pool chairs and table as required, ordered dinner to pick up on the way home, virtually hugged Grammy, and climbed back in the car to head out, waving good-bye.

Mary Anne: "Thanks for coming! Oh, and thanks for the blueberries!"

Darcy and I snickered quietly all the way home.