Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Overheard in a restaurant

Overheard in Dos Locos restaurant, Rehoboth Beach DE, on Tues night:

"So what did you decide about Thanksgiving?"

"Oh my god... my mother is just too much..."

"What happened?

"She tried to guilt me into hosting AGAIN. You know, I've hosted Thanksgiving for, like, the last 7 years... ever since my brother's wife tried to host that one time. Basically they provided the location and everyone else provided the food AND cleaned up afterward. And the poor doe doesn't EVEN know how to set a table. Its really just too tragic."

(Giggles)

"So after THAT debacle, Mom asked me to host the next year, and I did, and it was fabulous, and so every year since then its been me... cleaning the house for days, making all the food... and for the first few years I enjoyed doing it. Really, it was fun."

"So what happened?"

"Well, for one thing, it kept growing. Long lost aunts, forgotten cousins, Mom's next door neighbors - it was ridiculous. Pretty soon there were, like, 24 people coming for Thanksgiving dinner. Mom said she couldn't help it, and since I had such a big house, why not?"

"Well, that can be nice..."

"Not when there's bad kids. I don't understand how people can just bring bad kids to someone else's house. They're loud, they're messy, they write on your walls with crayon... OH YES! One of those little hellions wrote on my wall with a grape crayon! I swear, people with bad kids should just stay home! Politely turn down invitations if you can't get a sitter, people!!"

(More giggles.)

"Oh my god, then there was last year. I told my mom I really didn't want to host last year. I'd done several years in a row, the crowd kept getting bigger, it kept costing me more and more money, I just didn't want to do it, and I told her: 'Mom, I just don't want to host Thanksgiving this year', but she guilted me into it."

"What did she say?"

"First she said she'd give me money for some of the food, but I told her it wasn't just the money, it was all the work and shit. So then she let our a big sigh and said: 'Okay son. We'll just have KFC for Thanksgiving at your brother's house.'"

"Ooohhh, she's goooooooood..."

"Yeah, well it worked last year but its NOT working this year. Oh my god, last year was a DISASTER! As usual, I'd cleaned and cooked and baked FOR DAYS, everything was beautiful and delicious. We were actually having a nice time - us adults, in the dining room - while the kids were watching a DVD in the living room. Then all the sudden we hear this loud crashing sound."

"Uh oh..."

"So we go running into the living room and I can't believe my eyes. First off, my glass coffee table is off its base, like, across the room. Yes, the glass top is off of the base and its clear across the room. Then one of the parents notices red splatters on the sofa and carpet and starts freaking out: 'Oh my god, oh my god, who's bleeding?!?!'

"Jesus!"

"Well, it didn't take long to discover that the red splatters weren't blood, they were candle wax. There were half a dozen candles on the coffee table that had been burning for, like, 5 hours so they were all liquid. When the table went flying, so did those jars of hot wax. The parents were so relieved it was ONLY candle wax and not blood, they didn't even apologize. Do you know how hard it is to get red candle wax out of beige carpet and upholstery? By yourself, since the rest of the adults went back to the dining room to drink up the rest of my wine?"

"Did you ever find out why the table got knocked over?"

"Hmph. No. When I asked the little hellions about it as I tried to get the candle wax up, suddenly they all had amnesia... or laryngitis... or something. I'm telling you, it was a nightmare."

"You are too nice to those people."

"Yeah, well not anymore. I'm just tired of it, ya know? I'm tired of doing everything - putting all that effort into everything - for what? So I can feed a bunch of people and have my house torn apart? So this year I just told her, on the phone: 'Mom, I don't want to host Thanksgiving this year. I just don't want to do it.' There was this long silence, and finally she said: 'Okay, but what about Aunt Estelle?' 'What about her?' I said. 'Well, you know she's getting up there... she may not be... with us next Thanksgiving...'

"Daaaamn..."

"I know! I told you she was too much. But then it hit me: the answer. I had figured out the answer to how I could avoid hosting Thanksgiving without having to envision Mom and Aunt Estelle huddled around a bucket of fried chicken at my brother's, with the table set all wrong."

"Well???"

"A restaurant!!! We'll have Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant! Everyone will pay their own way, the restaurant cleans up after everyone, and my house doesn't get trashed. I can't believe I didn't think of this years ago. Mom wasn't crazy about the idea at first, but I just kept coming up with all the positive reasons why it was the perfect thing to do. You know me, I can talk. And when I'm trying to save myself a lot of work and money by NOT hosting Thanksgiving, I could sell an icebox to an Eskimo. So she finally agreed to it and said she'd tell my brother... and Aunt Estelle... and all the rest of them. It'll be interesting to see how many actually show up, since it won't be FREE like the last 7 years!"

"You want another cocktail?"

"Sure."

Crush du Jour: Brandon Kent

4 comments:

truthspew said...

As you might already know, Io sono Americano but Io sono Italiano too.

And if anyone can lay down guilt it's Italians. Luckily I developed a strategy for it early on. I cannot be forced to do anything through guilt. Instead if I say no, I mean no, to the point where I'm decidedly stubborn about it.

And if you try the guilt thing I'll say "Here, say that tiny little violin in my hand...."

wcs said...

Tip for getting candle wax out of your table cloths, clothes, upholstery, and maybe carpet:

Heat an iron to low, lay a section of paper towel on the wax, then iron it. As the wax melts from the heat of the iron, the paper towel soaks it up.

Just call me Sue-Ann Nivens.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Chr said...

Love the story! Now, can we crash his Thanksgiving party (after the restaurant dinner)? Did you get his address?

Victor said...

Love that image of Brandon Kent.