It’s funny how some people just love to entertain. In fact,
I have friends who will use any excuse to throw a party.
“Can you come over on Saturday night?” one of them will ask.
“I’m throwing a big bash, complete with a caterer and a live band, to celebrate
my husband’s vasectomy!”
I have never been the type of person who enjoys
entertaining. I guess it’s because I
get too stressed out preparing for the event.
Even the smallest of gatherings sends me into a panic.
The year I decided to make Thanksgiving dinner for just my
mom, husband and myself, for example, nearly sent me out into the streets to beg for valium.
I started cleaning three days beforehand. I knew that my mother could spot a speck of
dust the size of a grain of salt from 20 paces, so I made sure I vacuumed,
dusted, polished and scrubbed everything that was in viewing range of where she
would be seated at the dinner table.
At least 10 times, I sat in Mom’s designated chair and
stared at what I figured she would be staring at. I’d see a dribble of tomato juice on the fridge door and jump up
to scrub it. Then I’d spot a dust ball on top of a kitchen shelf and attack
that. Every time I sat in that dumb
chair, I’d find something new to wipe or scrub.
I figured the two bedrooms could be left alone because Mom
would have no reason to venture into them…unless, heaven forbid, she developed
stomach cramps from my meal and wanted to go lie down.
When my husband came home from work that Tuesday afternoon,
I was feverishly polishing the wooden chairs we’d be sitting on at the
Thanksgiving table. I actually could
see my face in the seats when I was done.
“So what do you think?” I proudly asked as I smiled at my
reflection.
“You shouldn’t be polishing the part you sit on,” he said,
frowning. “You’ll make it so slippery, your poor mother will go to sit down,
slide right off the seat and land underneath the table!”
“Well, would you rather have her sit on the old spots of
gravy you spilled on the chairs and end up with her pants stuck to the seat?”
Cleaning isn’t the only thing about entertaining that
stresses me out. Cooking also is enough
to make me take a few swigs of cooking sherry.
It’s because I want to be creative when company comes over. I don’t want to serve them run-of-the-mill
stuff like crackers and cheese for appetizers or baked chicken for an entrée. No, I really want to "wow" them.
So I always make the mistake of experimenting with new
recipes right before the guests are scheduled to arrive. Believe me, my list of culinary failures
could fill a phone book. As a result, I
practically have to blackmail people to get them to come over.
There was the recipe for rum balls that I tried. My uncle, after he practically needed a
crowbar to unstick one from his dentures, said I should patent them as
slingshot ammunition.
And then there were the meatballs that were so dry, one of
my friends joked, “Did this recipe call for one cup of sawdust or two?”
But the worst dish I inflicted upon my guests had to be
something called “Dump Stew.” The
recipe described it as quick, easy and delicious. All I had to do was scramble some ground beef, put it into a
casserole dish and then “dump” a can of kidney beans, a can of corn, a can of
stewed tomatoes and a can of sliced potatoes into it, stir and bake in the oven
for 45 minutes. And voila! Instant, yummy casserole.
Unfortunately, I bought the world’s greasiest ground
beef. And when I couldn’t find the
eight-ounce can of something the recipe called for, I substituted a smaller
size instead.
The oil-slicked blob that emerged from the oven was enough
to give my guests instant gallbladder attacks.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that my friends and relatives
are much better off if I leave the entertaining to others.
But I must confess I’m really tempted to throw a big party
for my dog, who’s finally rid of what turned out to be a very costly and
stubborn two-month ear infection.
Now, if only I can
remember where I put that rum-ball recipe…
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