By Barbara Taylor Sanders
Whenever we have company or a cookout with friends, something always goes wrong. When we were first married, my husband and I had our biggest fights over something he forgot to do. It’s a wonder we’re still married after all these decades. For instance, the coals on the barbeque grill. It was Daryl’s only job, and we always ended up waiting an extra 30 minutes till the charcoal was hot enough to grill the meat.
My Aunt Katie commiserated about Uncle Herm, and the infamous time when three neighborhood couples arrived for an elegant sit-down dinner.
Throughout the week preceding the dinner party, Katie, an immaculate housekeeper, nonetheless cleaned out closets and drawers; scrubbed down walls; wallpapered a bathroom; swept out the garage; trimmed bushes; mowed the lawn; planted flowers; painted the front door; washed and re-hung curtains; decorated; cleaned silverware; and shopped for food, candles, and mauve color linen napkins.
Nothing like “company coming” to get you motivated! Completely exhausted by the day of the dinner party, she managed to bake, cook and set an elegant table for the grand finale. It was perfect except for one thing. She left a simple, lone task to her husband.
The big evening arrived. The four couples were seated in a romantic, candlelight setting. The dimly lit dining table was adorned by fresh pink flowers with coordinated starched and ironed linens.
Related: Humor: “Hello, gorgeous, my name is Frank.”
Each silver-rimmed plate awaited the splendid arrival of skewered shish kabobs arranged on a large platter, fresh out of the broiler. My aunt confidently jumped into action. It was her finest moment. All eyes were transfixed on the presentation as she swiftly slid grilled steak and vegetables off each skewer to tower on a mound of piping hot, perfectly fluffed white rice. With the precision of a sous chef, it came together like a fine-tuned symphony.
The dish looked and smelled divine. The hungry guests were ready to dig right in. The smiling hostess gracefully sat down and gently nodded to her husband seated at the head of the table. By waving her arm, she gestured like a master conductor toward the guy with a set of huge cymbals. She had placed hubby in charge of purchasing the wine, opening the bottle, filling the glasses, then making a special toast to good food and fellowship with wonderful friends. That crescendo never happened.
He lifted the wine bottle to pour.
“So, Katie? Where’s the cork screw opener?”
Related: Best Wine Openers for Arthritic Hands
Undaunted, Aunt Katie rushed back to the kitchen. The dinner guests heard her yanking open drawer after drawer to no avail. It seemed like she was gone for 20 minutes. Jumping up, one man piped, “Oh, I’ll run next door and get ours.” All three men leaped to their feet and rushed out with him. They disappeared for an actual 20 minutes. I would have hated to be one of the guest wives waiting for their return. It probably felt like a somber medical lounge waiting for the results of a biopsy or facing a root canal.
Years later, we laughed about it, but at the time Aunt Katie felt like skewering her husband. I know the feeling. Through similar mishaps, I’ve learned that whenever you try “puttin’ on the dog, you end up gettin’ bit!”
