You Can't Sit With Us
You’re Invited!
Thank you for responding to our COVID dinner party invitation. Because there were so many questions about the event, I thought I’d take the liberty of replying to all, in order to address the myriad of concerns.
#1. Venue
We will be sitting outside in the backyard to take in the scenery, which, full disclosure, will likely include the view of female guests squatting over our children’s old plastic beach pails - we’re calling them lavatory stations - so please prepare your partner to hold up what we’re calling a privacy towel. Note: Please bring your own privacy towel. And your own toilet paper. Plus, if you have your own plastic beach pail, I’d be thrilled.
And though I hate to debase such an elegant event with a phrase that so rarely graces polite invitations: NO BOWEL MOVEMENTS.
#2. Seating
Couples will be seated together and six feet away from the next couple. We know which couples detest one another and/or slept with one another, and in those cases, couples will be seated 36 feet apart in an area we’re calling “street seating.” Street seating will also be designated for those who arrive by Uber because…HELLO??!!!
As we’ll be seated at great distances from one another, individual megaphones and hearing-assist devices will be provided. Accordingly, we ask that your conversation be kept short, interesting, and relegated to material well-suited to being shouted through a megaphone. Also, if this is a story you’ve told before, consider whether or not it bears repeating. Hint: The answer is almost always, no. For several of you, this is an admonition long overdue. And to think it took a pandemic to finally tell you… hashtag, silver linings.
#3. Food
Thank you for all the dietary restriction information. Little did I know of the vast array of gastrointestinal complexities, culinary rigidity, phobias and general food entitlement. You want bone-in chicken but with the bone cut out? What are you, four? I mean, nut-free, I get. No carbs? Okay - annoying - but okay. But the rest of you? All I can say is kudos for not holding back. Well done. And speaking of well done, I’m calling out the gal who submitted her preferred food temperature. Wondering how much you miss the spit of waiters to whom you made the same request. And to the fellow who requested his food be cooked exclusively in organic grapeseed oil, I say, with all due, please fuck yourself.
Alas, given the vast array of restrictions, there was literally not one dish that landed in the Venn diagram of menu overlap, and as such, we will be serving cups of shaved ice for our main course. For those who will undoubtedly inquire, we have town water, a top of the line Casola water filter, and our last inspection was December 2019.
#4. Servers
Servers with antibodies were unavailable so dinner will arrive at the table via Roomba, our robotic vacuum. That’s vacuum, as in singular, so your patience is appreciated in advance. As stated in the invite, utensils will be plastic. Those of you who wish to scowl at the use of plastic cutlery, go ahead and try, but I’m guessing that after indulging in all that Phase 2 Botox, scowling for you is not happening.
Guests with antibodies are encouraged to help clear the table.
#5. How Careful Have We Been?
A very common question - and funny, considering it was asked by many of you who get regular massages - but the answer is that we have been very careful and very safe. Very, very safe! We rarely leave home, don’t eat out, won’t order take-out, furloughed our housekeeper and rarely see friends or family. And each night as we weep, we blot our tears with his and her disinfectant wipes.
To guests who questioned the safety practices of our teenagers - again, a funny question given that it came from several of you who attend that not-so-secret, mask-less, non-socially distanced party every Saturday night - nevertheless, we admit our kids are less safe than we would like. Teenagers: can’t rehome them, can’t lock them out. [We tried but they had keys.] So, I acknowledge your insinuation that we are lax parents and as such, reckless hosts, and I validate your feelings of Covid-precautionary superiority. By the way, love the new tattoo.
#6. What To Bring
This time, when I say, “bring nothing,” I really mean, “bring nothing.” [Except that privacy towel, toilet paper and plastic beach pail.] No thank you to banana breads. Our freezer is at full capacity. Those terribly smelly candles you bought in bulk to give as hostess gifts? You’ve given me three. The sweatshirt that the RealReal deemed unsellable because of “armpit interior staining?” Just, no. Really, bring nothing. There’s only so much I can wipe down.
#7. Attire
In keeping with the times: no bras, no pants that zip, no shoes with a heel and no shirts that button. Dress as you have been dressing, like you’re about to wash your dog. And yes, wear a mask. Only fucking idiots don’t wear masks. Game alert: First one to remove their mask gets our United air miles!
#8. RSVP
RSVPs are by Zoom. Signify your attendance by asking, while muted, “Can you hear me???” over and over.
Looking forward!
