The Dinner Party: Part Deux - And Other Ramblings

At one point in the previous post, I mentioned the utter uselessness of the LRHG at my dinner party, who shall be renamed the LRHM; for anyone not in the know, this is "Little Red-Headed Girl", now changing to "Little Red-Headed Menace". You'll find out why later.

In all seriousness, I'm considering changing the name of the blog to, "How My Life Is Impacted By The Red-Headed Menace My Son Is Boffing". Or, to shorten it up considerably, "Redheads: Just Shoot 'Em". I hope none of my dedicated readers are ... well, you know.

Aaannnyway, Saturday wasn't all that different than any other day. She doesn't typically do much. She arrived in the living room looking feminine and pretty in a peach sundress and perched herself in a prime viewing spot for the evening's festivities while I got dinner on the table. My mother-in-law, who has absolutely impeccable manners, attempted to engage her in conversation a couple of times with questions of her plans for fall. Our pristine prima donna answered in short sentences, her head in hand, looking despondent. My son attempted to pick up the slack, rather like a short-stop racing behind a second-rate third-baseman, over and over, fielding whatever she failed to pick up. I wonder how long it will be before he gets sick of this? Eventually even MIL gave up and moved on to other things.

During dinner, it got better (?). The poor besotted brat was separated from her beloved at dinner by an entire table full of people! The heart positively shatters with the unfairness of it all. Fortunately, she was seated right there next to me! I got to bear witness to the entire display of life-altering melancholia. The wretched child sat there like a stunned carp, shunning the majority of the food as she always does, eating meat and a bun and pushing the rest around her plate. As the meal progressed, her face appeared to be melting into her dish; I was truly concerned that I'd have to pry the little darling's nose out of the gaily-striped melamine (hey, it was a picnic!). At one point I questioned her about their plans for the evening; her very brief and sorrowful answer was, "We're staying home; I'm having a bad day".

I have to say, I did a great job on dinner. Between my husband and I, we can put together some wonderful food. After dinner, I started picking up plates, etc, so I could serve the tiramisu. I would SO love to tell you that our dear diminutive dotard got off her size 3 buttocks (that alone is reason enough to lynch her) to help. What do YOU think? You're correct. She sat there. To her credit, she DID hand me her plate....

After picking at her dessert, she moved her 'bad day' to the family room sofa by herself, then took off upstairs. After everyone was gone, she emerged to lounge with my son. By then her 'bad day' appeared to have disappeared with the dinner dishes. She was cheerful and happy again! Yay!