Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Dinner party

It was a success.

Wine poured into matching glasses, laps covered in cloth napkins, and a meal from scratch (except the salad dressing).

I had timed it perfectly and even found a moment for fresh flowers as the centerpiece-- which were called "very pretty" at least once.

But it seemed I was too concerned with dinner's outcome and consequently said much less than usual.

Distracted by the possibility of burning dinner for four, I ran to the kitchen when I might have preferred to stay and chat.

I joined the conversation, politely answering questions, curbing my usually foul mouth into one that wears lipstick instead.

And it was a success.

Until the empty house gave me the quiet freedom to wonder.

To wonder if they were impressed by me, or my meal.
To wonder if they thought I was someone I'm not.

A woman who just cooks. Who just spends time in the kitchen.
A woman whose contributions amount to full bellies and warm thank yous.

A woman who isn't actually me.

But the one I gave to them instead.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

I sorta feel like that. I get very excited at the idea of having a dinner party. Then the reality sets in — I have to cook food that is edible and entertain and clean. I stress out that I need to buy things to make my house better or I might need a new outfit for the occasion. it's funny what we put ourselves through.

Chrissie Williams said...

i'm glad i'm not alone anon!

i feel like i can't win, part of me wants it to be a success, but when it is, i wonder if they think i'm some stepford-wife rather than a whole human being.

i think in the end i'm a fan of potluck and finger foods... then we're all equal (and free to chat and eat at our leisure)!

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