A friend and I were chatting about our sons's social lives. They are both part of a group that goes bowling, and out for pizza, and miniature golfing. It is a highlight of Ben's week when it happens. Then she reflected about her own.

 

"Well, I don't have any social life, really. But of course you have a lot!"

 

I was caught off guard and did not respond. Do I? I thought back to December, with its calendar of events. It's true that both of the offices where I work hosted luncheons, with a generous spread of delectables including marvelous desserts, and lots of laughter. Our daughter invited us to dinner on Christmas Day which was delicious. There was no lack of church services, with Tableaux, the performance of the Messiah, and handbells on Christmas Eve. Even our marriage group, which is as social as I get, went three weeks without meeting because of the holidays. But I could not recall any private celebrations that gave me a reason to bring on the red sparkles. 

 

Not that I am complaining, mind you. One of the shifts I notice in my sixties is that an empty agenda looks sweet. Sweeter than it did when I was in high school and being left at the dorm while other girls giggled out the door was cause for extra candy bars and loud singing in the shower. 

 

But what got me thinking was how my friend had come to the conclusion that I lead an extravagant life, based on what?  And while I am noticing, what assumptions do I fall into about how another person's routine compares to mine? 

 

Too many.