How now, Malvoli -- oh.
I went to another shindig last night! Wow, that's two in less than a week! And they weren't even held in my house! They were both held in the same house, though. At last week's Halloween party, Dawn and I found out that we both love Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, and Dawn revealed that she had a DVD of the Globe Theatre's production (here is an excellent scene from it), and announced that we should all get together sometime soon and watch it. "Dinner and a movie!" she said.
I know how these things work -- the best of intentions stated in the middle of parties rarely come into fruition. It was a great idea, and I figured maybe sometime around New Year's we'd finally all get together. Well. On Tuesday I got a text from Dawn -- she was planning the menu. Would this Friday work for me?
It worked. I was a little late, because the cookie recipe I'd doubled produced not four dozen cookies, as the recipe indicated, but nine dozen. Give or take a few. Oops. Fortunately dinner was also running a little late, so I stood in the kitchen, kept out of the way, and was handed wine and a variation on a whiskey sour Dawn's boyfriend concocted. Occasionally Drew and Elizabeth broke away from helping Dawn to dance, because they all dance and they all trade and invent moves and test various songs' danceability together. (The dance class takes place on Thursday nights, and if Thursdays weren't my longass mopping days I'd go. I still may go, if there's ever a Thursday when I'm not exhausted by 5pm.) In between dancing legs and table legs and Dawn bustling back and forth were her two small dogs, Watson and Ham. So really, it was quite a party.
Dinner was barbecue ribs and baked macaroni and cheese and collards and cornbread (and cookies); Ham sat on the bench between Elizabeth and Drew, and Watson sat between Dawn and Brant, and both dogs watched us all enjoy dinner and did their very best to look imploring and also starving. Then we all migrated to the living room, arranged ourselves on various squashy pieces of furniture (or laps, in the dogs' cases), and watched Shakespeare. I didn't get back until well after midnight, and I had a lot of fun.
c:
I know how these things work -- the best of intentions stated in the middle of parties rarely come into fruition. It was a great idea, and I figured maybe sometime around New Year's we'd finally all get together. Well. On Tuesday I got a text from Dawn -- she was planning the menu. Would this Friday work for me?
It worked. I was a little late, because the cookie recipe I'd doubled produced not four dozen cookies, as the recipe indicated, but nine dozen. Give or take a few. Oops. Fortunately dinner was also running a little late, so I stood in the kitchen, kept out of the way, and was handed wine and a variation on a whiskey sour Dawn's boyfriend concocted. Occasionally Drew and Elizabeth broke away from helping Dawn to dance, because they all dance and they all trade and invent moves and test various songs' danceability together. (The dance class takes place on Thursday nights, and if Thursdays weren't my longass mopping days I'd go. I still may go, if there's ever a Thursday when I'm not exhausted by 5pm.) In between dancing legs and table legs and Dawn bustling back and forth were her two small dogs, Watson and Ham. So really, it was quite a party.
Dinner was barbecue ribs and baked macaroni and cheese and collards and cornbread (and cookies); Ham sat on the bench between Elizabeth and Drew, and Watson sat between Dawn and Brant, and both dogs watched us all enjoy dinner and did their very best to look imploring and also starving. Then we all migrated to the living room, arranged ourselves on various squashy pieces of furniture (or laps, in the dogs' cases), and watched Shakespeare. I didn't get back until well after midnight, and I had a lot of fun.
c: