Saturday night's alright for fighting

I was looking forward to Saturday evening as we had invited friends for dinner at ours, for the first time. M and I had planned our menu, done the food shopping well in advance, made a special trip for firewood and coal, not to mention preparing everything nice and early on the Saturday, such as “my” now famous date tart.

And, thanks to this meticulous planning, the house was tidy, the children were in bed, the fire was glowing beautifully, strategically placed candle were lit (including one in the shape of a wine bottle) and the smell from the seafood pie slowly cooking in the oven was filling the kitchen and dining room.

Our guests were due at 8.30pm and so, when our usually punctual friends hadn’t arrived by 8.40pm, M and I were puzzled. Simultaneously, when the ‘phone then rang out, we knew something was wrong.

It turns out our guests had booked their baby-sitter for the wrong Saturday and did we know anyone that might be able to help out. No, we didn’t know anyone who could help out.

I know what you’re thinking; they just didn’t want to come. Well, if they had cancelled before the actual night then you might have something but I just know they wouldn’t have done it when they did.

So M and I laughed (yes, I managed to laugh about it; believe me, I’m as amazed as you are) and agreed to just enjoy the evening by ourselves.

Then we looked at how much food their was and we quickly thought of another plan.

I would knock and ask our neighbours if, by default admittedly, they would like an evening of wining and dining at ours. After stating that they weren’t anybody’s reserve dinner guests (in a very impolite manner), they hurried over.

The moral of the story?

When you think things are falling down around your ears, all is not lost. Hang in there – someone (or something) will come along and get you out of that creek you find yourself in without a certain paddle.

Cheers.