Ice cream — It’s what’s for dinner

Every now and then you have to entertain folks at your house or you’ll be labeled a recluse, or worse, a hermit. Last weekend was just such a time.

The Wife and I climbed into the car, she with her grocery list, and me complaining.

“But I like being a hermit, just as long as that means I spend every night alone with you.”

That comment prompted The Wife to lean over and give me a peck on the cheek.

We pulled into the Publix parking lot and walked into the store. When she got out her list, I boasted, “You know, real men never use a list when they go grocery shopping.”

She smiled, “That’s why when I send you to the store to buy food, you come home with four different kinds of cookies and a case of soft drinks.” She pulled at my shirt, “Come along, ‘real man,’ we have to buy some real food for our guests.”

“Cookies are real food,” I mumbled pushing the cart behind her. “Ask any 4-year-old.”

After picking up some steaks and all the other ingredients essential for a dinner party of five, we left the store and headed to the pastry shop.

I learned long ago that if the desserts are awesome, then it’ll be a great dinner, and the place we were going had the best dessert in the county. We smelled the home-baked cookies from the parking lot. After all, it was getting to be lunch time, and what better lunch than a plate full of hot cookies?

Unfortunately for me, The Wife disagreed and we enjoyed a nice tropical salad instead. In my defense though, if you ask any 4-year-old, they’ll say that cookies and milk make the perfect lunch and that ice cream is great for dinner.

Kids aren’t the only ones who want ice cream for dinner. Big kids do too. Just last week, The Wife asked me if I had cooked anything. With a grin on my face, I replied, “Ice cream. Even hermits need to get out now and then.”

We piled into the car and within minutes were standing in line at Bruster’s. Only problem was that half the county was there too. I guess they didn’t want to cook dinner either. But I digress; this story’s about having dinner guests, not ice cream, for dinner.

After our lunch, we headed back home, still with a lot to do before 6. If you have dinner guests, not only do you have to cook the food, but long before the guests arrive, you have to spend hours cleaning the house.

Hermits don’t care if the house is dirty; at least that’s what I told The Wife. She smiled up at me, “Yes, but I do,” and then handed me a sponge. “Hermit, go clean the bathrooms, please.”

Now don’t ask me why the showers and bathtubs had to be cleaned. As far as I knew, none of our guests was going to use them. Besides, if it were up to me, I’d clean the house once a year.

It’s the same strategy I used when Mom told me to make my bed. “Why? I’m just going to get back in it tonight.” Mom didn’t go for it, and neither did The Wife. I took the sponge and headed for the bathrooms.

With the house finally cleaned, we started dinner, or I should say the pre-dinner. Seems we needed to serve a tray of assorted snacks. Our guests could fill up with their choice of three different kinds of cheeses, two kinds of crackers, garlic olives and a tan blob of stuff called hummus.

Warning: for those of you that have never tried hummus, I’ll save you the trouble. Take a handful of leaves, a scoop of dirt, add bland spices and water, mix to a paste and you have hummus.

With the pre-dinner taken care of and the steaks marinating, I got dressed. Apparently, flip-flops, shorts and a t-shirt weren’t appropriate attire. Getting dressed, I realized that I was more comfortable with life as a hermit than as a socialite.

Dinner went off without a hitch. Our guests arrived at 6, ate the pre-dinner tray, enjoyed steak with all the trimmings, and left around 10. Then we had to clean the house for the second time. Exhausted, we finally started towards the bedroom by 11.

I resolved that the next time we had dinner guests; we weren’t going to spend hours shopping, cleaning the house, cooking, and then cleaning the house again.

Nope, the next time we have a dinner party, I’m having it at Bruster’s. By the way, the hummus is still sitting untouched on the serving platter.