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Our divas mourn the lost art of RSVPing

By RONDA RICH

The divas, at least the more refined ones, have been atwitter lately about those who don’t properly RSVP. It is becoming more of a problem to the point we discuss it regularly over lunch, over the phone, over e-mail and over tea.

“I have so many friends who accept an invitation to dinner and then back out,” Shannon complained. “Or, just as worse, they don’t RSVP. I just had a party at our new house. I sent out 90 invitations but only got about 10 responses!”

She took a deep, heavily aggravated breath then added, “And by the way, all of these people are Southerners. Surely, they were raised better.”

We all agree that mostly we have just gone the route of “Regrets Only” since it seems a bit easier to get people to call on one way rather than one or the other.

At Dixie Dew’s last birthday party, there were a few who didn’t phone regrets or show up either. The poor little pup’s heart was broken over such a blatant disrespect for her third birthday.

“Sometimes I put RSVP on the invitations just so that I can call and ask if I don’t hear from them,” explained Nicole. “It’s sad that you have to do that, especially when so much work goes into hosting a party.”

Claudette is not a very good diva. She is a great friend and a terrific person but her diva skills are definitely lacking. She never RSVPs. Which is why it was enormously amusing when she decided to throw a big surprise anniversary party for her parents and enclosed RSVP cards.

“I hope,” I told her, “that you have as much luck getting people to RSVP to your party as people have in getting you to RSVP.”

“That’s not very nice,” she responded in a tone of hurt.

I laughed. “Maybe not. But it will teach you a good lesson.”

“I never RSVP because I’m not coming.”

Of course, decent divas know that RSVP means answer “yes” or “no.” The initials are short for “respondez s’il vous plait,” which is French for “Respond please.”

Claudette is an anomaly. She is an intellectual hillbilly who speaks French, has visited France and loves french fries. She, of all people, should respect RSVP.

“It will tickle me if hardly anyone RSVPs,” I concluded, not resisting the urge to list all the RSVPs she had ignored in the past six months. I even threw in the luncheon invitation she did accept but then didn’t show up or phone.

Bewildered, she asked, “If people don’t tell me they’re coming then how will I know how much food to fix?”

Duh. That’s the dilemma that all of us hostesses face when folks who are good-people-but-not-good-divas like Claudette don’t RSVP.

That night, Claudette, still amazed that I thought the same rules should apply to her that applies to others, repeated our conversation to her husband, Jack.

“Ronda was so mean to me,” Claudette whimpered. “She said that she hopes that no one RSVPs.”

“What’s an RSVP?” Jack asked.

At least he’ll admit that he doesn’t know because others just pretend not to know. It is far better, I believe, to be ignorant than rude. If you agree, RSVP.