Cleaning, polishing, shopping, cooking for nine, etc. took about six hours. It was a bit of work. And it was worth it. I felt happy when I saw the silver(plate) candleabra (that my grandmother bought with green stamps) shining in the middle of the table.
The evening was rushed. Progressive dinners bring with them the anti-thesis of elegant dining. There is no leisure. There is a timetable to which you must adhere. Which isn’t a bad thing for some people who may not enjoy dinner parties. But we had a great guest list. All the makings for fun.
And then… one of my guests asked me where we hid the television….
OK, dinner was sort of over. Large portions had been wolfed down, soaking up the wine from the appetizer house and the five bottles we split among us.
It is basketball season. And there was a big game on, apparently. (I’m not a sports fan, by and large.) It was the first quarter. Two of the three male guests left the table to watch.
It is, of course, my fault. The evening wasn’t sufficiently entertaining. The always enjoyable Mrs. E. and I couldn’t hold their attention. As hosts, we weren’t up to snuff.
Or at least that’s the the way it seemed.
So please forgive the following comment. I don’t like to lecture. Advise, yes. Lecture. No.
Gentlemen. Would you like to have your date for the evening chat to her friends on her cell phone over dinner? Pay attention. Ask questions. Tell jokes. Listen. Entertain. Be a good guest. That will get you invited back.
If you have no desire to meet again with your hosts, politely decline the next invitation. Tell them there’s a game on. They’ll get the hint.
I hope I’m not breaking any union rules, but please enjoy the song. The saxophonist/singer was one of our guests. He is delightful. And very talented. It’s a larger file. Sorry for those of you who have slower connections. I think it’s worth the wait.