Remember the old Mary Tyler Moore show? One of the running gags was Mary’s disastrous dinner party skills, often involving a failed dish of Veal Prince Orloff (which, it turns out, actually exists).
Well, we’ve found our Mary for the 21st Century. Only this time its her guests, and not her hosting skills, that are the problem. Meet occasional journalist, editor, author, and complainer Wendy Squires, writing in the Herald this weekend:
Remember the dinner party last year? The one I got up at dawn to shop at the fish markets for? I went to a lot of effort and was really looking forward to a fun night.
But as usual, it happened with a whisper that spread along the dinner table and before too long it was as if all conversation was put on pause. The fun was freeze-framed. The dealer had been called and – forget my bouillabaisse – his arrival was all that anyone was interested in.
Yeah, the sleazebag didn’t stay long but he certainly made an impact. The guests all separated into bedrooms and bathrooms, returning half an hour later with dilated pupils and chattering mindless gibberish. No one ate my food and, as I was the only straight person in the room, bothered talking to me.