I’m an attentive host but don’t ask me to be a guest

I am a complete and utter phoney. How do I know this?  

Well, if you saw my kitchen right now you would be mightily impressed. The pile of papers and the so called “paperless” bills that I’m only supposed to receive on-line are missing from the end of the counter. 

I just ditched them in a cupboard. In its place is a three plate étagère filled with fresh fruit.  

If this were a CSI episode this would be the dead giveaway.  

“But she never even ate fruit,” would be the response from my nosy neighbour as she stepped across my lifeless body.

As it turns out, I’m also a filthy liar.  

The laundry room is immaculate, with white towels neatly piled high and instead of industrial size economy bath soaps , I’ve replaced them with something pretty and pretty damn expensive.  

The dust bunnies have been eliminated, soap scum vanquished and because I suffer from just enough paranoia, I scrubbed behind the toilets too.

Hey, you never know, someone could hit their head, pass out and then the ambulance guys tell everyone in the neighbourhood that your house is a dump.  

At least, this is how it plays out in my head. 

While you may have just had your first official summer swim, I’ve just had six guests leave and five more arrive.  

This is why I buy fruit, clean like a whirling dervish, stock the fridge with every imaginable food item and then pretend that there was absolutely no effort whatsoever on my part. I am a phoney and I am a liar.

Do you need a lift to the beach or town?  

I’m your girl. I will take you to lunch or dinner, take you to the Aquarium, the Bermuda Underwater bluppety blup and just to be a good sport, I’ll climb in to the bathysphere with your kids while you take a picture.  

I will do anything for you and I will ply you with good wine.

Here’s what I won’t do. I won’t be your guest.

Bad experiences  

It’s not that I haven’t been the guest of close friends but after a few bad experiences (theirs) I’d like to spare my friends and keep our friendships, well, enduring.  

If you have any doubts about my “guesting” ability at friends’ homes, then ask my friend Zoe.  I’m lucky that she still speaks to me.

She is so well-bred that she has never once mentioned the weekend one of my girls threw up in the middle of the night in her beautifully appointed guest room. 

Everywhere. Pesto tortellini, no less.  

The bed linens didn’t stand much of a chance but at least I was able to hose down the 600 thread count so that it could be properly laundered.  

The carpet? Completely ruined.  

All of this would have been enough reason to beat a hasty retreat and leave early but there’s more.

Quietly, while no one had noticed, Jack had climbed out on to her roof.  Jack is our yellow Labrador. How a dog manages to climb out on to a steep pitched roof is anyone’s guess but her neighbours were pretty impressed.  

It’s not every day that your dog threatens suicide. My daughter begged him to get help but he didn’t listen.  

Jack doesn’t listen to anyone unless food is involved, which is how we talked him down from the roof.

Sometimes you have to understand other people’s limitations.  

Mine? I can’t take the guilt of being that much trouble for people.  

I’ve broken expensive glasses, fed pets the wrong food and somehow managed to clog more toilets on the Eastern seaboard than anyone I know.  

My friend Joan once had to explain to my girls why Q-tips shouldn’t be flushed down a toilet.  

I would have been embarrassed, but a month earlier another friend’s kid had to be rushed to the hospital for sticking lima beans up their nose. It happens.  

The pressure to be a guest is just too daunting for me and yet I marvel at how easy my guests are to have around when they visit.  

When they leave I miss them and can’t wait for their return. But please, don’t invite me.  

Instead, sit, stay and eat. It’s the only way I get to relax.