So, I had a great day at work today. What with being fired for a week, last week, I needed it. Today, I went in and the Recreation Department had put up signs about the party tonight. (It’s December, and we will be having a party at least once a week for six weeks.) Parties are mostly just extra work, but my clients like most of the parties, so it’s entirely cool with me. But tonight was Jailbait with Cookies night. However, this year they brought cupcakes. (I had had to grinch up big time last year, on Jailbait with Cookies night because a lot of my clients really can’t eat cookies, because they choke on them, or go into diabetic comas and stuff.)
Maybe I should explain.
December is a time of great interest in spreading cheer to the less fortunate. My clients are institutionalized, quadriplegic, epileptic, old men. (Well, some women too, but more than half men.) They are forty something to seventy something. Various groups from various community based organizations come by. Some come by weekly, but a lot of them come by mostly on holidays, and a few, like the group tonight come by once a year. They throw a party with arts and crafts, and . . . . Well, this year it was cupcakes, since I was a grinch last year. (Hey, they listened! How cool is that?) Now, I don’t know just why the girls all belong to the group. The leaders are probably mid to late twenties. The county department of social services sends them over. There are like three teenage boys, and thirty teenage girls. So, I occasionally refer to this particular party as “Jailbait, with cookies!” My clients are pleased by this. In fact, some of them don’t even mind when I grinch the girls out over the cookies. The girls are incredibly cute, dressed as young girls do now days, and they are very friendly to my clients.
Hot damn, Jailbait! With Cupcakes!
So, we had a party, the leaders were so intensely sincere about whether the cupcakes were OK. The cupcakes were fine, with a bit of milk on them. The girls had all been told that no one could feed anyone a cupcake except the staff, unless the staff said it was OK. They were so cute about it all. And they just fawned on my dirty old men clients. Actually the fawned on the ladies as well. But the guys really liked it. (OK, two of the ladies were pretty much of the same mind as the men, but hey, it’s all good.)
They stayed late, they helped put things back in order before leaving, and they made my clients happy. I thanked them all very heartily, and apologized for last year’s grinchyness. Then I came home and took a shower. God, I hate cupcakes. 
Tris
