Oh no! I'm Invited!

Why is it that the invitations we don’t get can be as agonizing as the ones we do receive? We’ve all experienced the pain of not getting an invitation. Like the Christmas party that all of your friends were invited to, but not you. How about the time when several of your friends got together for a movie—without calling you? This always hurts, so we put on a good show and say that we were busy and wouldn’t have been able to go anyway—even if we weren’t and we could have. Sometimes not being invited is due to miscommunication. Someone was supposed to call, but forgot. Perhaps the invitation was truly lost in the mail. Other times, you just weren’t invited. As hurtful as this is, there are times that I wish certain invitations had been lost in the mail, or someone had forgotten to make the call.

Holiday invitations may be the most hazardous of all. My Thanksgiving last year involved an invitation to a friend’s house. She said, “come for dinner, you’ll have fun.” I thought about it for a few days and decided that it would be nice not to get up at dawn and cook and clean all day. When I called her back and told her that my husband and I would be there, I also asked what I could bring. I expected her to have me bring something, but I was stunned when she said, “Great, there will be 22 of us. Can you bring an extra turkey, some rolls, two hot hors d'oeuvres and your famous creamed corn?” I had already committed, so what could I do? I got up at five in the morning on Thanksgiving day and started stuffing the darn bird. Everything except the rolls had to be cooked (and packed) for the hour plus trip to my friend’s house. Once I arrived, I never left the kitchen until it was time to go. Of course, I was also the designated driver. Did I mention that I even made the gravy and whipped the potatoes because the hostess had a little too much pre-dinner vino? Why couldn’t I bring the pies, like her sister? I would have made sure that there was plenty of pumpkin to go around. I ended up with mincemeat. Adding insult to injury, I didn’t get any of my turkey—or even any leftover turkey for the traditional day-after sandwiches. Despite all of the aggression that I took out on that darn bird, it actually turned out quite nice, or so I was told.

Inviting relatives to visit for extended periods of time can also spell out disaster. One friend invited her parents to stay with her for a month last summer. I tried to tell her that a month was a long time, but she was sure that everything would be perfect, and that her parents would help her get some projects done around her house. Let’s just say that there was a lot done around her house, but very few of the items were on her “to do” list. The parents arrived on a Friday. On the following Monday my friend left for work as the painters arrived to paint the exterior of her house. She had chosen a nice mellow Tuscany mocha. Imagine her reaction when she arrived home to a bright yellow (gasp!) house. Apparently her parents thought the brown was boring and decided to surprise her with something a bit more festive. Mission accomplished. Not only was my friend surprised, she received a nasty letter from her Homeowners’ Association for not using an approved color. Again, insult to injury—especially since she had to pay to have it all done over in her original, approved color. It couldn’t get any worse than this she thought. Wrong! Two days after her house received the Easter egg treatment, she came home to find her mother bursting with pride. “Wait until you see your closet,” says mom. Keep in mind that this friend has an enviable collection of shoes. They’re stored meticulously in their original boxes, sorted by season and color. My friend actually hyperventilated as she ran to her prized walk-in closet. She burst into tears (which her mother took as gratitude) as she saw the plastic shoe holders her parents had attached to the walls. Her beloved Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks occupied every last slot. As she tried to calm down, she thought that perhaps she was overreacting. After all, she could take down the racks and put her shoes back in their boxes after her parents left. Before she could ask where the boxes were, her still beaming mother gave her a receipt and the four bucks that her shoe boxes netted at the local recycling center. (triple gasp!) You’ve heard the saying that likens out-of-town guests to fish—after a few days, they get a little stinky. My friend has refined the formula. She insists that after three days and two nights tops, it’s time for the fish to swim home. Needless to say, Mamma and Papa Fish haven’t been back to visit their daughter—nor are there any invitations on the horizon.

I too have extended a few invitations that I regret. Like the time I invited my brother’s girlfriend to house-sit for me. This involved a cat that was to be fed twice a day and taking out the trash. Thank goodness she didn’t take out the trash—or the cat would have starved. Sometimes informal invitations get me down. Spontaneity is probably one of my best, and worst, traits. Occasionally I commit to going out, or having friends over, and then as the date gets closer, I begin to regret—and sometimes resent—the commitment. Face it, when we make plans, they sound good at the time. This doesn’t mean that when the date actually arrives that we’re still in the mood for what we planned days or even weeks ago. I never cancel and end up having a good time in spite of my reservations. But later is better than sooner in my book. I’m always up for the last minute road trip or casual get-together. Waiting until the last minute is not without risk—you may end up alone. But it’s also exiting. It's like reaching into a grab bag, you never know what you’re going to get. Whatever it is, you have no time to dread it—you just do it. If you end up alone, then you can always catch up on a good book, rent that movie you missed with your friends, or have some quality time alone with your significant other.

I wasn’t sure how to end this article, but I’ve found that if you let things be, they'll often work themselves out on their own. Yesterday I called a friend to ask when she wanted to get together for dinner to celebrate her birthday. We usually celebrate our birthdays together every year at a nice restaurant—and we always split the bill. My bet is that we won’t split the bill this year. My friend wasn’t home when I called, so I left a message with her husband. Evidently something was lost in translation. My friend just called back and told me that she would love to have me take her out for her birthday. Another invitation gone awry, and I’ll pay dearly. I do have some consolation though. My house isn’t Easter egg yellow, all my shoes are still in their original boxes, and my cat is alive and well.

© 2005 Teresa G. Franta