At the last Game Night, a sample-sized stick of deodorant hung out the whole night, trapped in the middle of a ring of party food. Check the platter of those sickening mini sausages; they look like dehydrated weeners from a trio of nursing home-bound octogenarians.
The one on the far left looks like Henry’s.
Even though I’m a vegetarian, I try to cater to my meat-devouring friends as well. (Except when I had the infamous vegetarian dinner party in ’96 and the surprisingly well-received vegetarian finger food soiree of ’03, during which the carnivores had to suffer through courses of leaves and twigs — you know, your standard meatless fare.
) At one of my 80’s parties, I offered a tub of lobster dip and this girl Jessie set up camp on a stool next to the table and got real friendly with that dip and then washed it down with too much beer and egg nog and that dip ended up breaking her heart by the end of the night.
I didn’t even notice that little Dove was snuggled up next to the cheesecake-in-a-tub until after most of the guests left and I suctioned my ass near the food table, picking up scraps. With my tongue. Then I laughed because no one had pointed it out, or if they did, it was said laughingly behind my back. And in parseltongue. I’m somewhat shocked that no one took the liberty of slicking some of that down on the sweaty sausage.
The next game night is in two weeks and the theme is Main Ingredient: Cereal.
Maybe a tube of Preparation H will make an appearance at that one. Appetizing.