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Oh, bugger
Nov. 5th, 2010 07:53 amHe's free tomorrow.
This is going to be a bloody nightmare.
Why did I do this, WHY???? Why didn't I just choose option a), the easy way out? Because I'm an idiot, that's why. And because c) was the righ thing to do, of course, but...
OK, I'm not going to freak out. I'm going to imagine that this is just a nice, informal dinner with friends.
Doesn't work.
Oh, I think I ought to explain something here: the zen is still firmly in place. That's not the reason why I'm freaking out. The problem is that there's a Mutiny on the Bounty kinda thingy going on at [...]. Senior staff members wrote a letter to the powers that be above Mr H, but they did so after I had that whole dinner idea, i.e. after I invited him.
I've invited two nice young couples, who are basically unrelated to anything [...], but one of said couples is friends with one of the senior staff members who signed the ominous letter. This means that at the time when I planned the whole thing, OK, they'd heard the horror stories, but by now he is certainly aware of the letter, which means that mentioning anything [...]-related might be the proverbial spark in the powder keg.
So now you understand why I'm freaking out, right? Because I refuse to brief my friends on what not to say. On the other hand...
*giggles insanely*
This might get even worse than the famous dinner we had last year at the residence, where everybody was turning to stone while one of the guests, who'd been drunk already when he arrived, insulted everybody from the ambassador down to the household staff.
Then again, what's the worst case scenario? Mr H throwing a fit and leaving, and never talking to me again. Can I live with that? Yes, I bloody can, because I won't be the one embarrassing myself.
Still freaking out here.
ETA 1.40 p.m.:
Disinvite friend -- check
Stop panicking -- check
Write to Erin about my worries --check (I love her. She understood and calmed me down)
See potentially fun side of things -- check
Write to Janine about my worries -- check (she suggested, BTW, that I should proclaim the rule, right at the beginning, that whoever said something nasty would have to take off a piece of clothing -- genius!)
Go up to Stefan and regale him with the story of my woes -- check (Stefan is also great. He pointed out that these people are my friends, for fuck's sake, and certainly won't do anything to spoil my evening)
Buy groceries, take them home and taste Slavica's Selsko Meso -- check (it's glorious)
Feeling much better now.
And I had a stroke of genius: I invited Dalibor, my Macedonian teacher, as well. If he's free, we'll be seven, which is feasible. He's got excellent manners, speaks excellent English, is gay and a fantastic conversationalist. (Why does my imagination produce the scenario of him and Mr H falling instantaneously and madly in love with each other and retiring to my bedroom under the scandalized stares of the other guests?)
This is going to be a bloody nightmare.
Why did I do this, WHY???? Why didn't I just choose option a), the easy way out? Because I'm an idiot, that's why. And because c) was the righ thing to do, of course, but...
OK, I'm not going to freak out. I'm going to imagine that this is just a nice, informal dinner with friends.
Doesn't work.
Oh, I think I ought to explain something here: the zen is still firmly in place. That's not the reason why I'm freaking out. The problem is that there's a Mutiny on the Bounty kinda thingy going on at [...]. Senior staff members wrote a letter to the powers that be above Mr H, but they did so after I had that whole dinner idea, i.e. after I invited him.
I've invited two nice young couples, who are basically unrelated to anything [...], but one of said couples is friends with one of the senior staff members who signed the ominous letter. This means that at the time when I planned the whole thing, OK, they'd heard the horror stories, but by now he is certainly aware of the letter, which means that mentioning anything [...]-related might be the proverbial spark in the powder keg.
So now you understand why I'm freaking out, right? Because I refuse to brief my friends on what not to say. On the other hand...
*giggles insanely*
This might get even worse than the famous dinner we had last year at the residence, where everybody was turning to stone while one of the guests, who'd been drunk already when he arrived, insulted everybody from the ambassador down to the household staff.
Then again, what's the worst case scenario? Mr H throwing a fit and leaving, and never talking to me again. Can I live with that? Yes, I bloody can, because I won't be the one embarrassing myself.
Still freaking out here.
ETA 1.40 p.m.:
Disinvite friend -- check
Stop panicking -- check
Write to Erin about my worries --check (I love her. She understood and calmed me down)
See potentially fun side of things -- check
Write to Janine about my worries -- check (she suggested, BTW, that I should proclaim the rule, right at the beginning, that whoever said something nasty would have to take off a piece of clothing -- genius!)
Go up to Stefan and regale him with the story of my woes -- check (Stefan is also great. He pointed out that these people are my friends, for fuck's sake, and certainly won't do anything to spoil my evening)
Buy groceries, take them home and taste Slavica's Selsko Meso -- check (it's glorious)
Feeling much better now.
And I had a stroke of genius: I invited Dalibor, my Macedonian teacher, as well. If he's free, we'll be seven, which is feasible. He's got excellent manners, speaks excellent English, is gay and a fantastic conversationalist. (Why does my imagination produce the scenario of him and Mr H falling instantaneously and madly in love with each other and retiring to my bedroom under the scandalized stares of the other guests?)
