On Sunday night, our family had dinner over at my vegetarian friend’s home. She prepared steak. Now, you might think that is a little odd (it is, isn’t it?) but she is the type of person who would make an expensive entrée for her friends with no intention of eating it herself. It was some fabulous dry-aged beef. Wow.
The event was significant for several reasons. Besides the fact that she was going out on of her way to make beef for us, she also has not had us over in years. The last time my husband was at her home, he had an allergic reaction to her cat. Anyway, she doesn’t host many formal dinner parties. People show up on her doorstep and she feeds them, it simply isn’t so planned. And, let’s see, the last time she had planned a formal dinner, they cancelled on her several times, until it just became awkward altogether. She was very excited about this momentous dinner party. She was very proud that she had overcome her self-described dinner-party anxieties.
Several things attempted to get in the way of being able to schedule this dinner party. We managed to dodge them.
I couldn’t believe she was making beef, but I told my husband that he would eat it and say it was wonderful if it killed him (of course, it actually was wonderful). Thank goodness, because my husband is a horrible liar. He’s painfully honest. (I love that.)
I hoped that my husband would stay away from her cat. She put the cat away somewhere and had most likely vacuumed ten times.
Our kids generally play very nicely together, but you never know. Andrew had been a little snippy last time they were together. Her son is sensitive, mine is sometimes a little insensitive.
Things were going well. We were all enjoying a drink. The kids were playing. The appetizers were delightful. The cat was nowhere to be seen. I relaxed, and I am not sure she was ever nervous.
Andrew and her son were having so much fun, they decided to go upstairs to be away from the girls. Fabulous!
“Mrs. E! Something is wrong with Andrew’s eye!”
Andrew appeared in the kitchen with his eye swollen shut.
His shirt was covered with cat hair. We didn’t know our son was allergic to cats for sure, but any question was now irrevocably cleared.
We administered Benadryl. He was so upset that he spit it out all over my dress. Finally, we succeeded with the medicine, stripped him down, and gave him a bubble bath. Andrew and I were both issued fresh clothes from our hostess. Dinner went on.
After dinner, Andrew appeared again, this time with one eye still swollen, but toting a pretend rifle. Jay and I are very much against play weaponry in general, but the sight of one-eyed-Andy toting a rifle was simply too much for me to bear. I laughed out loud.
Everyone was having such a nice time, we left a little later than planned. On our way out, my friend apologized again for my son’s eye.
“Are you kidding? When was the last time I had a half-bottle of wine and went home in someone else’s clothes? That HAS to be the definition of a successful party.”
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