Potluck Redux

The morning after, the house is clean. Not one speck of potluck is found anywhere throughout the premises, except the utility room with four garbage bags, no leftover food either, yesirree bob!

Of the twenty-six guys who RSVPed, thirty-two showed up, and not all of the RSVPers were able to attend. This is either a math problem or a physics problem.

I'm one of these people who can't stand the after-party mess, so I was busy in the kitchen at the end, wrapping up guests' leftovers, and escorting men and leftovers to the front door. The affair ended officially at 10 p.m., and I believe most of the men were gone by 10:10.

Several new people showed up. I hope we see them again. I had a couple of interesting conversations, both with men with shaven heads. I'm thinking trend, here. I talked to one of the guests who shares some of my concerns about who shows up at these events. He said, "Oh, the old-timers just go into the front room and sit down for the rest of the evening." That is true. They don't move, except to hit the chow line, and if you should sit in one of their places while they are at the chow line, you'll be told about it, nicely, of course.

Perry was sorely missed by at least two of the attendees, who inquired specifically about him. A neighbor and boyfriend showed up, and said we should get together more often. One of the gentlemen was talking about his girlfriend (beard?) at some length. I warned Charlie about men from Baltimore.

I'm thinking on a ten-point scale, this potluck was probably an eight, which is pretty damn good.