Hi, Mom. I know why you’re here. Besides wanting to learn how to cook (I kid, I kid), you’re here because you love me. Because you gave birth to me. And because that somehow obligates you to show unwavering support for whatever exciting! new! project! I have undertaken. And boy, we’ve been through a few of those, haven’t we? Remember baton twirling? Oboe lessons? Duck raising? Rest assured that this latest endeavor won’t break any windows or burst any eardrums or peck any eyes out. This time, I’m just here to write.
Well, I’m here for two reasons really. For starters, my husband and I have been renovating our home for going on a year now, and we have finally decided that enough is enough. We’re not ending the renovation, oh no. We’ve come too far to turn back now. We’re just ending the isolation that comes with tripping over paint cans, sweeping up sawdust, and having no real furniture to speak of. In short, we’re ready to see our friends again. You can’t really blame us for not hosting any fabulous dinner parties throughout the building process because, for much of it, we didn’t have a functioning kitchen. But now we do. Now the majority of the dirty work is complete. And though we may not have any switch plate covers for a few more weeks, and we may be living out of boxes for a few more months, the time has come to reclaim our social life. I know you might think I’m crazy, but I have a little theory about dinner parties. Want to hear it? Here goes. Deciding to throw a dinner party is like deciding to have a baby. You never think you have enough money. You never think your house is quite ready. You never think you’ll find the right time. But the truth is, if you keep waiting for all the stars to align, you might just end up waiting forever. So the point is, it doesn’t matter if we’re talking about cocktail hour or offspring, when the idea hits you, you just have to go for it. Hello? Mom? Pick yourself up off the floor. I am not pregnant. And if I were, this is not how I would tell you. I’d just leave a post-it note on your windshield: “Crap. Knocked up. Margaritas?”
The other reason I’m here is that my husband keeps urging me — with increasing fervor, I might add — to find myself a creative outlet. To his credit, I believe this clever maneuver is a sign that he has once and for all mastered the art of diplomatic husband-speak. Because you and I both know what he really means is, if I have to hear one more piece of Julia Child trivia I am going to smother you in your sleep, so help me god. And I’d rather write about food and parties than risk imminent death by suffocation, wouldn’t you?
So, to summarize:
1. Screw the renovation, it’s party time.
2. You’re invited to the party.
3. Still not pregnant. Watch for post-it.
3 Comments
June 22, 2009 at 5:04 am
What?? Still not pregnant?
June 22, 2009 at 2:06 pm
Oh, heck no. We’re not trying. But you must be getting the baby questions too, no?
June 23, 2009 at 6:03 am
Ahh yes…yes we are.