A Household Word: Dinner Is Served

This morning, when the alarm went off, I knew I was already behind schedule. I should have been marinating the meat, chilling the wine and repainting the dining room.

By Carol Band

I love dinner parties - especially if they are at someone else's house. The only problem is that after you've gone to other people's houses and eaten their food, they expect to be invited to your house to eat your food.

It was with this sense of social obligation that I called three other couples and invited them to come to our house for dinner. Tonight.

This morning, when the alarm went off, I knew I was already behind schedule. I should have been marinating the meat, chilling the wine and repainting the dining room.

Instead, I nudged my sleeping husband and hissed, "Wake up! People are coming for dinner."

"Sweetie," he said as he rolled over, "it's seven o'clock in the morning."

"Actually," I said, "it's 6:30, and there's a lot to do." I tied on my bathrobe and headed to the kitchen to make a list - even before I made coffee. Having a list would give me focus and calm me down.

• Clean house


• Clean bathroom


• Clean fridge


• Shampoo carpets


• Check silverware for smudges and food bits


• Plan menu


• Shop for food


• Shop for wine


• Cook


• Wash dog


• Wash kids


• Reupholster couch


• Paint dining room


• Buy new napkins


• Buy new plates


• Buy new glasses


• Buy new tablecloth


• Buy new table


• Buy new house


• Move

This list didn't make me calm. It made me feel totally panicked and a little bit nauseous.

Twelve-year-old Lewis wandered into the kitchen with two friends who had spent the night, asking, "Can we have pancakes?"

"No," I snapped. "Eat cereal and don't make a mess. We are having people over for dinner."

Maybe I should tell 'em that I'm sick, cancel the whole thing and rent a Clive Owen movie. Hmmmm ... tempting, but cowardly.

Instead, I looked at the list and decided to concentrate my efforts on cleaning the bathroom. After all, it's the only room where the guests can really scrutinize your housecleaning and discover that you have a moustache. I didn't fill the medicine chest with marbles, but I did remove embarrassing items like Preparation H, Wart-Away and Jolene bleach. Then I wiped the male territory around the toilet and spritzed the mirror with glass cleaner. I even scrubbed the tub with bleach and ammonia. The bathroom filled with deadly chlorine gas, but the rust stains remained.