The party had been planned for months. Luckily, I had no idea what was about to transpire. Hours had been spent making phone calls, sending invitations, hiring help, and looking for a dress. It was to be a festive holiday gathering featuring a bartender, live music and catered food.
I had overbooked thinking people would be busy. Not only did everyone respond in the affirmative, they asked if they could bring friends. Our little house would be bursting with sixty people.
The party was to start at 5:30. At 5:00 o’clock the house glowed with colorful decorations. My husband and I were decked out in our fanciest holiday togs. The musician was tuning up in a corner of the living room, and the bar was set up in the sunroom.
At 5:15 my anxiety was turning into panic mode. I kept calling the caterer, no answer, no caterer, no food, OMG! I told my husband to go out and buy twenty varieties of pizzas. Not being the nervous type he firmly refused. What was to be done? How could we have a party without food?
At 5:30 I heard the first guests talking as they rang the bell. At the same time, our garage door opened, and in came two strangers carrying a tiny toaster oven. Unbelievably, they were from the caterer. How could they possibly feed sixty people? We had been promised lollipop lamb chops, steak sliders, quiches and more. Disaster, my gala event was ruined!
My husband acted like jolly old St. Nick inviting everyone to help themselves to our well stocked, unmanned bar. The house began to throb with music, strong drinks were imbibed, people started mingling, and a couple got everyone dancing in the kitchen.
We heard mumblings about the lack of refreshments. I put out bowls of peanuts from the pantry. Now and then a plate of toaster oven food emerged from the garage. The men, in particular, pounced on it, making it a game of survival of the fittest.
The guests had a great time talking about the weird food situation. I made an announcement apologizing and declaring, “Let’s all have a great time anyway!” With that I started a conga line through the house. I had decided to go with the flow, and was having a wonderful time.
As the party was winding down, a handsome young man approached. He was the caterer’s son, and exclaimed with surprise, “This is way too little, too late!” That was an understatement! He apologized, saying his mother had a wedding at noon, and had overbooked. No kidding! (She wasn’t the only one who had overbooked.) The situation was so bad we laughed at the absurdity of it. The party had music, free flowing booze and a beautiful night. My disaster had turned into a fun, funny evening!
INSTANT NOODLES 