The Dinner Party

T is for

The Dinner Party
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She flits around the spotless house
Nervously checking on clock and husband
One says seven thirty
The other says half drunk already
And moaning about a missing shoe
Half an hour to go
Before the guests wanted yet not wanted
Arrive in a cloud of perfume and cologne
Liberally applied
Buoyed with dutch courage
Mixed with Listerine;
She checks the clock again
Seven forty five....oh no
Getting closer
Husband found his shoe
Nibbles little nibblets
Dinner on low gas
Simply Red on volume six
Trendy yet moody
Hip yet hippyish
She grabs a glass of wine
Third today and cooking sherry doesn,t count
She is too nervous to get drunk
The carlights shine on the windows
Tyres crackle on driveway gravel
Doors open
Doors shut
Loud voices
Don,t get pissed
Behave yourself
Giggles
Loud laughs
Door bells chime and
She moves into overdrive
As hubby bites into a canape
And opens another lager
Designer beer of course
Guests enter spoiling the new carpet
And the antiseptic atmosphere is polluted in seconds
By loud raucous, drink fuelled chattering
Inane boring asides
From ineffectual drunkards
Picking at food and grabbing at drink
Have you seen?
Did you hear from?
He makes 40K
So she painfully endures with the help
Of a Montrachet
And no help from her husband
Who is florid faced
On ninth lager
An Italian brew from Oddbins
Wops can,t fucking make lager
Time passes slowly
Two by two they disappear into the night
Must do lunch
I.ll phone tomorrow
You can,t drive ,you,re pissed again
So she sits down
Surveying the carnage at two thirty a.m.
Husband half in bed, half out
And she switches off
Until the next party;