It is not an easy feat to keep a dozen or so baby boomers entertained, well-fed and hydrated over the course of 5-6 hours. Add to this the duties of recording which gifts were from whom, depositing various bouquets of flowers into vases, and cleaning up the entire bag of ice I so cleverly dumped all over the kitchen floor, and it becomes less of a party and more of a three-ring circus, with me as ringleader.
But these are the things one puts herself through when her dear mother turns half a century old.
In addition to this, I tried to play the clever, witty hostess and engage in some casual banter with the guests, the majority of whom have known me as either a tiny baby, or a delinquent teenager, or both.
One gentleman in particular, made fast-friends with my parents’ dog. The dog is normally a skittish beast, and fearful of men in general as he was abused as a puppy. But for some reason, he immediately sidled up to Len and hardly left his ankle area for most of the evening.
Thinking I was being clever (and recalling the scene in As Good As It Gets where Jack Nicholson wins over Verdell the dog with a pocketful of pork product), I said to Len “You must smell like bacon on something!” About three seconds after the sentence leaves my lips, it dawns on me…
Len is a cop.
I should’ve just stayed in the kitchen.