Margaret Suran wrote:

> What would you do under these circumstances? You invited three other
> couples for dinner and Bridge. You prepared a nice dinner for eight,
> chopped liver with black radish slices, consommé with Fridatten,
> roasted duck with bread dumplings and red cabbage, beer or wine or
> water with lemon slices, dessert, cheese, fruit, you know, the whole deal.
>
> The table was set with the little chopped liver plates waiting on each
> place mat, soon to be consumed by the hungry guests. The four
> ducklings were out of the oven, cut into halves and resting on
> individual dinner plates, while the dumplings and red cabbage were
> still on the stove.
>
> Six of us were in the living room, waiting for the last couple. The
> doorman called from downstairs, announcing "guests"
>
> I went to open the door and nearly fainted. Instead of the couple I
> expected, four people were coming into my apartment.
>
> "My cousins are in town", said the invited woman "and we thought it
> would be nice if they came with us". I was holding on to the doorknob
> for dear life, not wanting to collapse on the floor.
>
> The woman continued, "I knew you would not mind".

<snip>

Margaret, you dear soul, are the epitome of hospitality, so I can well
imagine you inviting them in and making do. I might actually have
attempted the same "make do" as did you. That said, "I knew you would
not mind" is incredibly intrusive on your hospitality. My instinct (if
I gritted my teeth) would be to say, "Oh, I'm so sorry, but I have such
a set dinner that I can't accommodate extra guests. Perhaps we can do
this another time with you and your cousins?" Then show them the door.

And never, ever invite them to my home again.

Terry "Squeaks" Pulliam Burd
AAC(F)BV66.0748.CA

"Most vigitaryans I iver see looked enough like their food to be
classed as cannybals."

Finley Peter Dunne (1900)