My kind of party.

In the Murphy home we don't have very many "rules."

In fact, I could count all of the rules on one hand. 

1. Be honest. (with yourself, your beliefs, your friends, your family, and anyone else you may come in contact with. )

2. Be kind, and always leave someone better of from when you found them. 

3. Never put away a puzzle until its been completely finished. 

4. Don't do shoddy work.

5. Throwing yourself a pity party is never allowed.

And that covers it. 

And I've never had a problem with any of these rules...except one.

I'm very prone to throwing myself pity parties every time I'm home alone on a Friday night, or every time I hear about yet another party I wasn't invited to.

But that just won't do in the Murphy home.

Because in my house, when you see someone with their head hanging down, you don't just walk on by.

No, what you do is actually quite simple.

First, you give them a "magic hug," and happily ignore their groans of protest.

Then, you do anything you can to make them smile.

And you know you're making progress when their glare starts to quiver because they're trying to suppress a smile.

And at this point, there's only one logical thing to do.

Be a Murphy. (This may include dancing like a lunatic to country music, or singing so off tune its debatable if it should even be called singing, [singing and dancing may be done simultaneously if the situation seems particularly dire] or, in extreme cases, tickling the victim until they can do nothing to wipe that smile off their face.)

And just like that, my pity party came to a crashing end.

And really, what reason do I have to be feeling sorry for myself?

I have a great life.

And I happen to have the best friends in the whole world, and I'm lucky enough to call them my family.

Besides, this is more my kind of party. 

Sincerely,

Samantha Dru