My mother ran a perfect household. The house was always immaculate. She was a great cook. Her dinner parties went off without a hitch.
I did not get that gene. My house is always covered in dog hair, despite my (half-hearted) attempts to vacuum. I am often surprised by the results of my cooking, as in “Are those lumps supposed to be there?” And entertaining makes me nervous.
I wish I could say that I let them see the house as it looked before the Herculean cleaning effort that preceded their arrival, or that I tried some wildly experimental recipe. I can’t. I played it safe.
But I am really glad they came over. It’s a shame I don’t do this more often. This little fear is definitely one to get rid of.
I wish I had something more insightful to say tonight, but I wasn’t kidding about the vodka.