Today is the Kentucky Derby, the big horse race at Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky. Time was, Derby Day meant a big party for us, but no more. I remember a Derby party with the house stuffed full, when my husband did such a spirited Russian dance (none of us are Russian or of Russian descent) my grandparents’ practically comatose dog jumped up and bit him. Ah, memories, memories.

Several things have mitigated (if that is the word I want) against our parties:

1. My grandparents have passed on, and so has their fascist dog.
2. The grandkids cry if they don’t win the Derby betting pot (and so do I, if I don’t).
3. My mother isn’t supposed to eat chocolate, which nixes the Derby Pie®.
4. A horse broke a leg coming to the finish and had to be put down, and that made us all queasy about watching any subsequent race.
5. Charlie can’t do the Russian dance any more.

For these reasons and more, the Derby Party this year will consist of my mother, my husband and myself getting gently tiddly on Mint Juleps. Mom has a cold, so it may just be Charlie and me, which means no party at all.

Alas.

WRITING PROMPT: Your character goes to a party which is either raucous or is a shadow of former celebrations.

MA