Hostess with the mostess

Last week Friday, Tom and I threw a small dinner party.  We rarely do this anymore.  We rarely do anything that makes us break into a sweat.  I'm not kidding.  Tom and I refuse to sweat.

So today is Thursday, and I just cleaned up the very last hints of that dinner party.  I know it's shocking.  Tom put in the first load of dishes and said, "I'll clean this up," but he didn't.  He didn't really want to.  I didn't want to.  We didn't care about the semi-mess in the kitchen.  Instead, we sat in front of that fire we're liking so much these days.

The next day, I put in another load of dishes.

I hand-washed the silver.  I kept eating pickled olives from the dish I left out on top next to the radio.

Today I washed and folded the white napkins and put them back in the drawer.  I looked at my kitchen: clean.  Six days to clean up after a small dinner party.

That said, I loved having people over to our house.  It's easier to hear each other than meeting at a restaurant, which is what we are more inclined to do.  And then, too, good friends bless a house, and sustain us with good feelings in the days that pass.  Even longer than it takes to clean up.