We don’t get pizza. We don’t get burgers. She eats bananas and I eat Special K with her fucking skim milk and beef jerky. She’s making craft cards with glitter and ink stamps. She’s got ink all over her hands. Sometimes I don’t get into the tomboy thing. I’m looking out the window with a glass of wine.
“We should throw another party,” she says.
This whole neighborhood is still being created. There are lots in her cul-de-sac that don’t have houses on them. Most of the houses on this street are empty. They’re waiting to be sold.
I turn to Ashley and say: “What kind of party?”
She pats the carpet next to her for me to sit.
The last party Ashley and I threw was called the Ice Party. We always do theme parties. And we always require something of our guests. It’s a trick to create ownership. If you require something of someone, they become a participant. When you participate, you feel ownership, you have more fun. Like someone who never does chores at the house they live in: you’re not getting away with anything, you’re harming yourself by dealing yourself out of participation in the house. You won’t ever feel you really live there until you participate..in whatever’s going on..chores or whatever. At our parties the required participation is written on the invitation. At the Ice Party, the participation was “Bring something to share”. Simple as that. Your participation can be anything, as long as it requires something from the guest. It doesn’t matter what they bring to share, it doesn’t even matter if they share it. The only thing that matters is that the person feel they’re a part of things. “Bring something to share” accomplishes that.
Ashley and I were working on perfecting our parties.
“What should we call it?”
“The ’Naughty’.” I said that without even thinking.
Ashley’s patting the carpet next to her, trying to get me to sit. “What’s the participation?”
I gesture with my wine glass. “Wear something naughty,” I say. I don’t sit down. I’m pacing. Pacing. Because now we have the kernel of an idea.