It's My Party.

Did I ever mention I had a party once and no one came? I think of it this time of the year when beaches are part of my routine and lobsters abound. It was a long time ago, but it still sits with me.

H2 (Husband #2) and I had a lovely home on the beach in the Hamptons. He still has the home, but trust me, it really always belonged to him. We decided to have a beach party with lobsters, a steel band, and various other things to entertain one hundred plus of our nearest and dearest friends and family. It was going to become an annual event.

So on the night of the party, it’s 6:30 p.m., balloons are at the end of the driveway, valet and security are ready to keep everyone safe, and we are holding hands walking down our path to the beach. H2 and I are looking casual fab. The steel band is ready to start a calypso something or other, the bars are open, the bartenders are at their posts, and one hundred plus lobsters are ready to give their lives in the name of feeding our friends. Ready, set … nope.

We waited until around 7:00, and then H2 said, “Did you do something to piss off every person we know?” He has a very dry sense of humor. I actually thought for a minute before answering, which is one of my issues that needs work. “Surely you jest.”

I turned on my heel and went into the house to call my good friend, Susan.

“Hey,” said Susan.

“Hey yourself. Why are you still home? You were supposed to be here at 6:30 for the lobster bake on the beach.”

“And I will be there … next week, which is when I was invited to attend.”

Susan hung up without another word, knowing that I was going to want to plan my conversation with H2 carefully. Also, you should know, Susan was never known for her empathy.

H2 was actually really nice about it, even after we realized that we would have to pay twice for one party. As they say in the year 2000, shit happens. I felt like an ass, and I was happy that the secret of my ridiculous mistake was confined to our household, Susan (who probably never had another thought about it), and my sister and her POSSLQ (IRS term for Persons of Opposite Sex Sharing Living Quarters), who never opened the invitation and were called during the day to remind them to come. So they did. At 7:30, which was on time for them.

The four of us sat on the beach as the fog came in and listened to the band and ate lobsters while discussing where we could send them so they did not die in vain. We laughed a lot, and the next week’s weather was even better than the week before, and all was well in the kingdom on the beach.

I bring it up because a client of mine is doing an open house party thing, and he is a mess. I told him that story to ease his nerves, and judging by his silence at the end of my story, I think he thinks he needs to look for a marketing person who is better with details. No matter. The point is that the best-laid plans are not always well laid, and you can make yourself nuts or go with the flow. More and more, I’m a go with the flow person.