The dinner guest who would not leave
Note: It is 11:18 pm on a Tuesday as I write this, with (not the first) glass of champagne in front of me. Clearly, all is not right with the world. Please excuse any typos to come.
Tonight I accomplished the repaying of an obligation -- dinner at our house for two people with whom I went through a year-long program recently. This was no stint at Betty Ford... far from it. But I'm afraid that if I give the specifics, it'll be too easily googled and my identity (and cattiness) revealed. So suffice it to say that it was quasi-work-related.
And suffice it also to say that I was put upon a team with these two people who at first glance are entertaining. At second, third and fourth glances, they are still sitting at the dining room table, cackling at each other, while you (or I) clear the table, put the dogs out, check e-mail, yawn ostentatiously and kick your spouse repeatedly under the table.
At fifth, sixth and seventh glances -- ie, at 10:30 ON A TUESDAY -- they are still at your dining room table. You blow out the candles. You put away the portabella and rosemary risotto, the dinner party standby, which turned out sorta mushy and with not nearly enough rosemary, and you even pack up an extra slice of cake in a disposable container for each person. And still they sit.
And just when you think the year-long obligation is done -- that each of the three of you has finally hosted dinner for the group, and now you can politely part ways -- they mention the need to do this AGAIN. Egads.
When they finally leave, you are so relieved as to pour another glass of champagne. Your spouse drinks from the bottle as you discuss the incredible self-involvement of the dinner guests, who failed to ask more than a question or two about each of you during the entire 300-minute affair. You pick at the leftover cake together. And then you pour a last glass, and he heads to bed as you check some blogs.
And that is how you end up blogging, with champagne, at 11:26 on a Tuesday.
I think this may be why Jebus invented advil.
Tonight I accomplished the repaying of an obligation -- dinner at our house for two people with whom I went through a year-long program recently. This was no stint at Betty Ford... far from it. But I'm afraid that if I give the specifics, it'll be too easily googled and my identity (and cattiness) revealed. So suffice it to say that it was quasi-work-related.
And suffice it also to say that I was put upon a team with these two people who at first glance are entertaining. At second, third and fourth glances, they are still sitting at the dining room table, cackling at each other, while you (or I) clear the table, put the dogs out, check e-mail, yawn ostentatiously and kick your spouse repeatedly under the table.
At fifth, sixth and seventh glances -- ie, at 10:30 ON A TUESDAY -- they are still at your dining room table. You blow out the candles. You put away the portabella and rosemary risotto, the dinner party standby, which turned out sorta mushy and with not nearly enough rosemary, and you even pack up an extra slice of cake in a disposable container for each person. And still they sit.
And just when you think the year-long obligation is done -- that each of the three of you has finally hosted dinner for the group, and now you can politely part ways -- they mention the need to do this AGAIN. Egads.
When they finally leave, you are so relieved as to pour another glass of champagne. Your spouse drinks from the bottle as you discuss the incredible self-involvement of the dinner guests, who failed to ask more than a question or two about each of you during the entire 300-minute affair. You pick at the leftover cake together. And then you pour a last glass, and he heads to bed as you check some blogs.
And that is how you end up blogging, with champagne, at 11:26 on a Tuesday.
I think this may be why Jebus invented advil.
posted by mc at 11:26 PM
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