Cat traps and Chinese food.

I met my mom for a late dinner this evening. It was her idea to spend a little girl time together, and I enthusiastically took her up on suggestion. I stopped by the house to pick her up, and I waited on the couch in the living room while she put on her coat and shoes. We made our way out into the crisp, fall evening toward the Happy Chinese Restaurant with our minds on combo platters and hot tea.

The place was packed. It is just a little hole in the wall with gold decorations and brown booths harvested from some other restaurant that must have closed in the seventies, but the food is great. We stood in the crowded foyer among other locals while we waited for a table to clear.

At first the server led us to a little table in the back corner, but it was dark and cramped, so we asked to be seated in a booth that opened in the front. Again we crossed through the crowd of families and retired couples, and we settled comfortably into the vinyl seats.

It felt like a perfect ending for the day. We chatted about life over our fried rice and pork, and as we left I noticed that the stars were shining brightly through the clear sky.

The trouble didn’t surface until we got home. As I walked in the house, I heard my mom behind me. “Erin,” she said, and then she burst out laughing.

“What? What is it?” I asked, knowing that whatever it was could not be good for my self esteem.

“Check the back of your pants.”

This seems like an appropriate time to explain one of the unique aspects of my family home.

My dad hates cat hair, and he especially hates cat hair on furniture. This preference of his is in direct conflict with the family cat’s fondness for sleeping on the living room couch. It has been a battle for years. Dad finds the cat on the couch and throws him out. Cat reenters through the cat door and resumes his nap on the couch. And on and on.

To break the cycle, my dad came up with the brilliant idea of placing long strips of duct tape- sticky side up- on the couch cushions. After a couple of painful episodes, the cat now knows to look for the tape on the couch and avoid it at all costs.

Unfortunately, human guests are not nearly as well trained. While I waited for my mom to ready herself, I had rested on the couch in the dark living room. Little did I know that I was picking up a souvenir that would stick to the back of my pants at an odd angle for the rest of the evening.

I wonder what the other restaurant patrons thought of the girl with the huge piece of shiny tape stuck to her backside. In retrospect, I suppose getting extra attention with a glinting behind is less disruptive than the hassle of trying to remove that stubborn strip in public. I had quite a job of peeling it off my pants when we were home.

I am glad that the duct tape episode did not interrupt my night out with my mom. By the time I realized what had happened, it was easier to laugh than blush. But I am going to have to be more careful about where I sit in that house.