We pass pork roast and dinner rolls around the table, and the kids almost don’t drop anything except for a knife with butter on it. Our guests share stories about growing up a long time ago, and no one does anything terribly mortifying except Squeezy toots but I don’t think anyone notices but me.
I’m not good at having company because I’m always afraid it’s never good enough, but I’m working at this whole hospitality thing and these friends keep me laughing and smiling and help me feel at home in my own house. I hope they feel the same. My hair’s not done and I forgot to make a vegetable and Squeezy needed a bath about two days ago and didn’t get one. Darth Piggy snitches a crouton right out of the salad bowl and I give him a death glare, because that’s what moms do to their 8-year-old boys when their table manners are lacking and there’s company.
We all clear the table and Angry Ranger helps serve up some no-bake strawberry cheesecake from a box, and then the ladies and I wash up the dishes while Art and the kids brave the humidity to weed the garden and play loudly. And when the dishes are clean there are hugs all around and as I wave goodbye I think maybe I can do this whole hospitality thing.
Next time, though, I’m going to do my hair.