No. Seriously. We might have to.
Relish in newness of being a newbie. Make a good impression. Make friends.
(These are a few things we told ourselves we would do when moving to a new hometown. Had the capacity for, even).
So, it’s important to get off to a good start, right? Keep the ball in play early. Not be penalised for silly mistakes.
We probably should have Googled “dinner party etiquette” before this particular adventure started then.
(Modern Manners and Etiquette tells me of the importance of the invitation in making “a happy host and a good time”. It’s the voice of reason really: be clear about dates, times, venues – well, you know? Some details that might be relevant to anyone expected to attend).
Including the hosts).
It’s just, well. Well, it’s just unfortunate that we had forgotten that we had dished out invitations to our new best friends (read: only acquaintances we have had interactions with more than twice).
Yep. We forgot that we asked some people to dinner.
(Scene of the crime: The night before the 80 flies incident. The crime that I refuse to evidence further at this point).
By some stroke of extraordinary fortune, fate, and destiny that we are clearly not deserving of…. Good Lady Luck swung our way again (albeit giggling madly). The prospective ‘friendiners’ it would seem, are more up with dinner party etiquette than we are.
They called. They called to check. They called to check one full day in advance of the event. The event planned by us. The event we forgot that we had planned. “Are we still on for dinner at your place tomorrow night?”
That’s the question they asked. Thank the Greek Gods they did actually ask it I tell you. If there was not a question such as this asked – well. I guess we could have …..
(As it was, the question prompted a flurry of activity: frozen peas, canned beetroot and 6 month old cornflakes all tossed on to the kitchen bench in an effort to see if there was a chance in high hell that the event could, in fact, take place).
Still. To my own credit –
It should be stated here that I have very strong coping mechanisms when it comes to being on the receiving end of shock waves. (Don’t ask me to give you tips though. As it is, I am in denial about my over-use of denial).
With our tails between our legs and remorse drifting gently in the breeze, we sat quietly in the confessionals of truth. We told our friendiners that we had forgotten about those particular invitations.
(Way to make a good impression to people who will be potentially part of one’s future social life).
It gets worse.
We also had to ‘fess up that we had already run with the bulls and created another set of invitations for the following weekend… A set of invitations apparently that were relayed to other people when we were in possession of our mental faculties. (“It’s not you, it’s us” – really the only excuse that we could offer up).
Of course, we (the arrogant duo that this household contains) still expected that they would show up the following weekend… even though they had not been in receipt of that invitation (mark two). Confused? Well, so am I quite frankly. (Always and generally speaking).
No time for self-pity, though. Because… despite the poor form, despite the social ineptitude, despite it all – This thang is going down. Dinner party is in-da-house.
(And a sprinkle of irony from the measuring cup: the only ones actually able to make this date were the originals from the forgotten invite. Karma really is my fate).
Oh, and in case I forgot to mention: You were invited.