Not having an off-Homestead place of work, I have spent a goodly portion of this past week watching others fulfill their Christmas Social Quota (and then some) and that suits me just fine. To be utterly honest, I find the whole seasonal social whirl increasingly unappealing, way preferring to spend time tending the flock, garden and figurative home fires and enjoying the company of nearest and dearest,  but this week, when I did venture out, I experienced something that I’d heard about but had discounted as grumpy-old-person talk. You see, this week I suddenly discovered I possess the power of invisibility.

But first the good stuff.

The Princess and Farmer are Christmas fanatics (you know that glow on the horizon after dark? That’s our place, blinking-winking-flashing-flickering our Christmas joy to the world) and we happily hitch on to their Yuletide exuberance. This week saw us undertaking another Escape Room adventure, decked in our Christmas finery as it was kind of, if you squint, Christmas themed. Okay, it was called The Gingerbread House and leaned more towards Hansel and Gretel than Santa and the Elves but we figured that was close enough. We did manage to escape, soaring back to good old Aotearoa on the back of a magical mallard, with three minutes to spare but, whereas our last escape room adventure was only interrupted once with a helpful hint from the host, this time the radio ran hot. Oh! It was tricky – but it was also fun.

The Princess hosted a Christmas themed afternoon tea on Saturday, as she had stumbled on a festive hot chocolate recipe she wanted to try out. A very satisfactory afternoon was passed swigging gingerbread hot chocolate (utterly delicious) and munching on Christmas goodies – and talking a lot. This ranks right up there with me and my cup, both figuratively and literally, runneth’d over.

Sunday was The Bean Counter’s birthday and he had been doing a bit of research on suitable birthday meal locale. He finally decided on Chiwahwah Mexican Cantina and I think we may have found our new favourite celebration venue. More eating, more talking,  the food was delicious and the bill palatable; our wait staff offered a round of that song which the birthday boy politely declined but, if that is your thing, they’ll even sing to you. It doesn’t get much better than that!

The candles, the requested caramel slice cake, the song; Happy Birthday, Dear Bean Counter

Weekend over, the rest of the family began on their multi-stacked, double-parked festive celebrations and I tackled another strip of the horribly overgrown front door garden and, when the weather packed in, got out the sewing machine.

The front door garden from both angles, in all weathers

Tuesday night was Urban Outpost sleepover night and on Wednesday I ventured down to the mall again with a very succinct list and a plotted plan of attack. My first call lulled me into a false sense of security: I was greeted on entering the store, left alone for a bit and then, ever so nicely, helped in locating exactly what I was after. I strode out of there with my trundler bouncing behind me, full of Christmas joy and self congratulation. Piece of cake!

It was in the next store that my new found talent first made itself known. I was shopping for jeans and had very precise instructions on brand, model, leg style, colour and sizing; these took a good line and a half in the notes app on my phone and I was very nervous about my ability in ticking every box. The past is a little unkind in this respect. I quickly located the correct area in the shop in which I was the only customer, but the style I required was above my arm reach (and in all honesty I wanted someone to reassure me I had got it right) and so approached the service desk and poof! it happened. I didn’t even have to mutter an incantation or fling on a cloak, suddenly it became apparent I was not detectable. I waited, I smiled, I sought eye contact, I shuffled from foot to foot and coughed politely; finally I spoke. I know I was invisible because one of them jumped. I did leave the shop with exactly what I went in for but my soul felt a little heavier; surely it wasn’t okay she sighed and snatched my phone in order to read the instructions for herself?

In the next few stores, I fended for myself; I knew it was time to go home when I reached the front of the queue at a check out and the guy behind it abruptly turned on his heel and disappeared out the back. I didn’t need that stuff anyway, I muttered to myself as I put it back on the shelf, my psyche reverberating to an internal soundtrack of old-lady swearing and self beratement. Their loss, I silently hurrumphed, whilst knowing it was mine because I really did need a comb to keep in a drawer at the Urban Outpost; there’s some things a hat just can’t hide – even if you are see-through.

I need to work on strategies because I do not want this new-found power of imperception to result in an acidic disposition or the inability to shop happily wherever I damn well please.

I also need to research the invisibility spell trigger because whatever prompted it to engage had well and truly worn off by the time I got back to the Homestead.