s I write this, the stock market is bungee jumping, oil prices
have climbed to scary heights,
American children are ill
from their toys made in China, the Bush
Administration’s bunker mentality is thicker
and higher, while the race for his successor
could be over before most voters look up to
see who’s running. And what am I thinking
about? I’m looking over the list for our annual
holiday party and wondering who I’m going
to hate the morning after. Why? Because
there’s no richer time for bad manners than the
party season which runs from Thanksgiving to
New Year’s Day. This town during the holidays
is like this town in a dusting of snow – all
rational behavior is tossed. Simple etiquette
becomes so much slipping and sliding.
This Scrooge-like rant of mine has to
do with only two demands: please do
R.S.V.P. my #@*&$!!? invitation, and
please don’t regift me with the gift I
gave you at that dinner six months ago.
You know who you are, too. You who
stockpile all the hostess gifts and premium
swag bag items only to redistribute them
to your beloved close friends when the
frost is on the fir tree. Maybe you should keep
a list of where and from whom you scored
the loot. A dinner guest memorably handed
me a beautifully wrapped book that when
unwrapped revealed an inscription to the regifter
from the author. “Dear Mary, for all the
old times. Love, Bill” These kinds of details
need to be checked in advance. |
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Honestly, it won’t diminish your power if
you let a friend know whether you will or
won’t attend the party for which they likely
coughed up some big bucks and endured God
knows how many arguments with the caterer
and household staff. Those reasons alone
demand your thoughtfulness.
I’m not yet at the stage of the pros
who mail “Save the Date” cards in August,
invitations at Halloween with addressed
stamped reply cards inside that require only a
checked “yes” or “no,” and then begin follow
up phone calls right after Thanksgiving. That
sort of desperate effort would be better used
helping our troops in Iraq; it shouldn’t be
required for having a party. I may, though,
cross over to the new frontier and use
cold, heartless email; but doesn’t that
suck out the last drop of glamour and
romance from the holiday party spirit?
Well, almost any party – it’s fine if you
are just out of college and building
your holiday theme around a keg.So, consider yourselves on notice.
I am making a list and checking it twice, and if
you don’t R.S.V.P. you are officially naughty and
won’t dare want to face me when I’m not feeling
nice. Ho Ho Ho and Bah Humbug!
Readers wishing to get in touch with Michael can
email her at: columns@washingtonlife.com |
The bigger issue is the plain fact that
R.S.V.P.s have become meaningless. No one
replies anymore, and even when they do
respond, it doesn’t necessarily mean it will hold
up. You know, too busy, a better offer, trying to
do four parties in a three-party night. Don’t
even bother with a seated dinner during the
holidays, because what you’ll get is: “Can we
just drop by for cocktails? Can we join you for
dessert? We’ve got so much that night.” Part of
this is the ridiculous warp-speed pace of life,
but there’s another factor unique to our fair
city: entitlement.
There are so many jobs that come with
pre-installed butt-kissing that simple human
courtesies get lost in a whirlwind of ego. This
town is the home of the party where everyone
in the room thinks he or she is the guest of
honor. You’ve seen it. You know it. Great
outsized egos who show up wearing business
suits to black-tie events, excuse themselves for
home before the dessert, and play with their
devices at the table. |