Apparently I'm not the dinner partying kind

So I was talking to my mom earlier on the phone about apartments and I was saying that one was so small it was more like a dorm room than an apartment and you wouldn’t want to have people over and she was asking if you wouldn’t be able to have anyone over, not even one person, and I was saying that you could have one person over but you’d never want to have a dinner party.

At that point she kind of scoffed and chortled, she scfortled, as if I am not the dinner party type. I am SO the dinner party type and the fact that she can’t see my inner casserole dish and the oil and vinegar cruets behind my eyes—well that kind of hurts. If you stab me with a dinner fork do I not bleed? If you shove little corn poker things onto the ends of ears of corn does it not make them cuter? (it does! and easier to eat! not that I’ve had corn in a million years, but that’s beside the point)

Anyway, just because I haven’t entertained in a zillion years and just because I wouldn’t know human companionship if it came up and bit me on my agoraphobic tushy does not mean that I don’t know how to throw a fun fest for a few fancy friends.

And to prove it, I thought I’d detail the itinerary:

First my guests would arrive and we’d chit chat while assembling my furniture. Then we’d eat pretzels. Then we’d play dress up. Then we’d skip rocks. Then we’d take a nap. Then we’d help me lift heavy things and change any bulbs that are out that I can’t reach. Then we’d play sardines. Then I’d sing a song for everyone. Then we’d make a toast. Then we’d have quiet time where you could read or nap or color or play with stickers. Then we’d go miniature golfing or roller skating, I haven’t decided. Then we’d probably go out to dinner. Then we’d watch a movie on my home movie theater. Then we’d take funny photos. Then the shuttle would come to take everyone home.

See? I know dinner parties!