The Party's Over

At the end of the party, if it has been at my house, I don't want everyone to leave. I want most people to leave, because by then I'm very tired of small talk, party conversation, circulating, and saying only nice things. But I want one couple, or maybe two, to stay. We will close the door on the departed partygoers, blow out most of the candles in the dining room and bring a few lit ones into the living room. Then we will sit around and talk. I know it's late by then, but I relish the openness of rehashing what went on. "Did you talk to Harold?" "Yeah. Did he tell you about Jenny?"  "No, what's going on?"

 

And then I get to hear all the gossip that I missed while doing the circulating-hostess routine with a platter of hors-d'oeuvre. You can't be a part of every conversation at a party, especially if you are hosting it. So I need to sit with a few other people who acted as my eyes and ears and can fill me in on all those other conversations.

 

But eventually even those few will feel that their part of the party is over, and they leave. And then I exchange my pretty shoes for slippers and put on an apron. Dino and I bustle around putting food away, loading the dishwasher, and talking, just the two of us, about who said what to whom.

 

And finally, now, the party's over.

 

Copyright 2011 Ann Tudor

www.anntudor.ca
http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com