Señor C and I had two sets of guests this week. We got to dust off the social skills that spent the winter languishing in little boxes in the laundry room. I think we were pleasant enough that they'd contemplate returning, even.
On Sunday, we had one of Señor C's coworkers over, because his girlfriend was away. He was very gracious about being called away from cleaning up after his LAN party/drunken orgy to find our house at the end of its labyrinth. We fed him, and Señor C demonstrated that he both possessed many video games and could play them as well, and then he went home to cram two days of recharging into two hours. Perfect dinner guest!
On Friday, we had a couple from the Old West over. They are actually not cowboys- they are observers from the twenty-first century stranded in the past, except when their cars need smogging. I got to practice cooking courses, (went okay- Señor C wouldn't let me put chopped hard boiled eggs on the pizza though, like a spoilsport) and they were all sweet and lovey dovey. I was envious for a while, until the imaginary Amy that lives in my head smacked me for being an idiot. Thanks, imaginary Amy!
I won't say they left the room they stayed in neater than it was when they came- but that's because they were last people who stayed there. Last time, it was definitely the case. What is this amazing square corners on made beds skill other people possess? When I run a load of every sheet and pillowcase in the house later today, I'll never be able to make the bed look that good.
They were also delightful, graciously overlooking the fact that we've been talking to no one but each other for four months. The conversation was a bit stymied by my obsession with Myers-Briggs. (but that's normal for a QMHR! It's all in this book!) I think that topic might be moved down a notch to heavy conversational repression. Along with career plans and bowel movements. Gotta work on Austen's conversational topics: "Traveling and staying at home, new books and old music."
I've been corrected on my French swearing- it apparently should actually be C'etait fucké.
We played The Game this weekend as well. It echoed my misspent youth to the extent that I didn't feel unimaginably old when I set up an appointment with a financial adviser. Maybe I'll eat some baloney faces before setting up my IRA.
The farmer's market is back! Glory is returned to the world!
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