of good hosts

So this one time, you invite muskill-man and his petite wife over for a dinner-and-movie-double-date. You spend the day scrubbing-things-over-and-over-until-everything-sparkles and cooking a four course meal, tasting everything over and over again to make sure it’s perfect. You learned this from years of training in the kitty-party culture that your mom swore by. You’re cranky because the boyfriend is taking too long to get things organized in the living room and making a mess everywhere he goes.

You send him off on random get-this-from-the-market errands every couple of hours. You’re thankful that he’s very bulliable when you’re all worked up and need him to be obedient. Once in a while he drops into the kitchen and offers to help so you can take a break, to which the Crankenstein in you responds with a glare.

Okay, so soon it’s evening, and you’re all set to entertain. You put on a comfortable jumpsuit and nag the boyfriend to change. You want both of you to look your best. You wonder if has anything to do with all the touchy-feely you did with them earlier.

So they arrive, right on time. You spend some time talking about general stuff, sipping your wine, feeling happy and just a little bit tipsy.

Then your eye wanders to her earrings. So tacky, you whisper to the boyfriend.  He looks bewildered and gestures for you to stop, but you’re giggling, like a lot.

The petite wife asks what you’re talking about, and you say, Your earrings. The boyfriend suddenly looks pale. I love your earrings. I had the exact same pair and I lost it while we were making out in the car one night. I just remembered.

The lie slips out easily and without effort. Nothing will ruin this evening!