Crush Groove

Should have learned my lesson last time I let folks not old enough to know who Kunta Kinte is in my house, this time for what I thought would be a celebration of the creative spirit, graduation, birthdays, academic accomplishment and the gathering of good folks, regardless of age.
Should know better than to try and make folks have class, finesse, good intentions and the like when they've been programmed and hard wired in ways I will never truly comprehend. I can have all the empathy in the world, but I will never know. And so I had a party, that turned more into my being less Martha Stewart domestic diva and more Aunt Jemima/ Flo Evans hostess- with-the -mostess type undeserving diva. Smashed cake on my floors and didn't pick it up, spilled drinks, ate up all the food, had a good time, came empty handed and then left without even a thanks for allowing us-to-come-into-your-home-again-showing-us-a-good-time-caring-about-us-more-than-our-own-mothers-do goodbye! Wow! Smack in the face. Whack upside the head. I'm done. Now the elitist that I so was not brought up to be has to rear her little let's- not-love-everyone- because-we're- not-cut-from-the-same-cloth head and stick to my own kind--folks who are smart, sensitive, funny and appreciate someone doing anything for them no matter how small the gesture--kind. No point getting even more upset than I was. Cry it out. Holler it out. Cuss it out. Vent it out. And know that this too shall pass. I tried.