We’ll always have vodka

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.

So I don’t entertain that often. Tonight some friends (who wouldn’t care if I screwed everything up, so long as we had vodka) came over for dinner.

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.

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