|Looks like everybody's having a little gin to me|
My wife and I are having some friends over tonight for dinner. We're making some of our favorite dishes and appetizers. I baked a pecan pie last night. We hardly ever entertain or have dinner guests. Most of the time, we eat dinner in the living room, watching TV or reading. We are actually clearing off the dining room table and breaking out the good china. When I spoke to my friend, he asked if he could bring anything. I told him to bring a bottle of wine. He was cool with that. I also plan on picking up a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream (no relation to George) to mix in some hot chocolate, as well.
I'm excited to have our friends over. They're a great couple, around our ages. Matt was just hired this fall at the university to teach creative non-fiction. Louisa, his wife, is just plain wonderful. They had us to their house for dinner around Halloween, so it's our turn now. Of course, Matt is a food person. He worked in the restaurant industry for quite a few years. That's makes me a little nervous. However, I keep telling myself that they are not coming to our house for the food. They're coming to spend time with us. The food's incidental.
There will be quite a bit of "gin" consumed this evening. We killed a couple bottles of wine when we were at their house in October. So, Mr. Bailey's warning is not going to work too well at our house tonight. Then again, none of us are 18-year-olds fresh out of high school.
Peter Bailey has a stroke a few hours after giving his sage advice to his son, Peter. He dies broken and tired, with great dreams and lots of unfulfilled desires, I would imagine.
Saint Marty intends to have some gin tonight. Maybe some zinfandel or pinot noir, as well.