Friday, April 23, 2010

Hostess with the Mostess?

Happy Weekend! We are excited to have guests staying with us this weekend. In preparing for our company, I realized how much I like hostessing. It's a chance to bring out your inner Martha. Or rather, try and fool your guests into thinking the following:

1. Yes, my house is always this clean.
2. I do always have fresh flowers in multiple rooms of the house.
3. Sure, I leave candy out all the time and am never tempted to eat the whole bowl.
4. I always have the latest magazines in the guest bathroom and fold the flap of the toilet paper in a triangle, it's my signature.
5. Of course our pantry is always stocked and I just so happen to have ingredients to throw together a cheese plate, with honey and walnuts, fresh olives and french bread. Oh what's that? Salami bread? It's in the oven.
6. Oh you smell baking? It's very common for me to make blueberry muffins in the morning. Just ask my hubs... or rather, let's not ask him.
7. We also toast all of our guest's arrival with prosecco, and keep an extra bottle with fresh O.J. for Sunday morning Mimosas before brunch.

Phew, how does Martha do it? Well, I would like to think that if being a Martha figure was my full time job, I would be just as flawless. But for now, we can pretend that on Wednesday night I wasn't in a horrible mood because I didn't feel like cleaning and the Hubs didn't have to bribe me with ice cream to get me to a happier place. That I didn't make a frantic last minute trip to the grocery last night and stand in the flower section for 20 minutes, finally deciding on tulips but cut the stems too short for the vase and had to find a ribbon to put around it to hide the stemless flowers and pretend like it was just for decor. We can pretend that I haven't been eating a peanut M&M (or two) every time I pass the bowl and that the muffins I made were from scratch and not the instant 'add a half a cup of water' and shove them in the oven kind (and that I didn't hide the bag at the bottom of the trash can). We can also pretend my little Chi didn't have explosive 'you know what', all over my carpet this morning and I didn't run around the house spraying and scrubbing frantically before anyone woke up. And that the bottles of prosecco in the fridge are not from months ago when I finally realized why I was getting so bloated after drinking them and haven't touched the bubbly since.

Let's pretend shall we?

Even Martha served some time in the slammer, so I guess that means even the best Hostesses are all allowed to sweep a little dust under the rug, no?

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