fictional story that starts with this sentence: “To say I was dreading
the dinner party would be the understatement of the century.”
conclusion – you can leave your readers wishing for more!
As a sightly obsessive compulsive person, finer details are everything to me. I am anal about the planning and execution of my functions, and I make sure there is room for error or failure.
Unfortunately, some things are out of my hands.
The disaster of a day started out with the crater of a pimple between my eyes. I could handle a smaller mound on my head and somewhere less welcoming (hidden under my chin or behind my ear) but the middle of my forehead, inviting everyone to stare it. Not cool.
A warm cup of tea will help. Except there is no electricity, no power. Nothing with a button works. Including the fridge that will keep things cool, the stove and oven that will cook food and the electric gate that will allow guests to arrive. I rely on my trustworthy cellphone to save the day with desperate calls to caterers to quickly whip up edible food, the local store for bags and bags of ice and a handyman to allow our gate to be controlled manually. Can I still save this?
The babysitter just called: she can’t make it. As in, she cannot come and take care of our sweet baby child whilst I host the biggest dinner party of the century. I guess super mom will have to grab her cape, feed and bath the kiddo and get her into bed before guests arrive. Let’s hope she plays the game and doesn’t involve any baby substances.
A few minutes to go: child is asleep, catered food is laid out, gate is open, the pimple has been concealed, all ready to go and I get THAT phone call.
One of the guests asking what time the dinner party is… TOMORROW. My invitation was for tomorrow, not today.
I got it all mixed up. Nightmare.
This was a tough one. After a busy day and no internet connection until now, I was in no mood to think deep and start being all creative. This is all I have…
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