I was extremely agitated leading up to this past weekend's mix of overnight guests plus Steve's improbably large party. So agitated that I offered on not one but three separate occasions the following compromise: I would get the house ready and make all the food if Steve would tell our guests that I was dead when in fact I was locked in our bathroom with my Kindle and a giant bowl of soup.
Steve thought I was kidding.
In the end he flat-out refused to let me hide anywhere in our house and I still kinda cleaned the house and still sorta made food (98% purchased but I arranged it festively on platters and I bought yards of clearance fabric and said it was a tablecloth) and the people all came and then they left and it was fine. I did call my friend Noelle ninety minutes before the party started and pleaded with her to come enoo but that was less in the expectation that she would help me slap food together (of course she would) than in the hope that she would prevent me from murdering Steve on his birthday. First he windexed the kitchen cabinet shelves and then, fifteen minutes before guests were supposed to arrive and the rest of us were running around with our hair in curlers and the oven on fire, he heated himself up some leftover pad thai. Jesus Mary and Joseph preserve me.
Last year or maybe it was the year before someone told me in the comments that at their house they call this particular quirk 'painting doorknobs' and it has caught on here. When I called Noelle and said, please, I need you before I bludgeon Steve with an ice luminaria she instantly asked if he was painting doorknobs and when I whimpered she said she'd come at once.
It is so nice to have the party over and done. I did enjoy it. Truly. I just hated every second of the week leading up to it. I expect it's like the feeling you get when your leg is no longer pinned under an SUV.
In other news, you people are geniuses.
Go ahead. Count the mittens.
I bought a bundle of parachute cord for $2 at the fabric store, cut it to manageable lengths, threaded it between their outer jackets and their inner jackets and had Steve tie a nifty climbing knot to each mitten to secure them.
I did the math and allowing for four months of winter, four weeks per month, three pairs of mittens lost per week... times two... less the $2 for the cord... I owe you $938.