The Fine Art of Entertaining

My thoughts on entertaining guests are really quite simple; just allow them to feel at home and make sure they know when it’s time to leave. Oh, and keep a phone handy for when you have to dial 911. Although that’s a pretty basic formula, it has worked fairly well for me over the years. Maybe my success has to do with the fact that I rarely throw a party. Come to think of it, I rarely tell my cronies where I live. That’s not to say that I don’t have some good friends, it’s just that I have seen what happens to them when they shed their cloak of responsibility and let their hair down. Imagine college spring break held during a category seven storm and you get the picture of what goes on during some of our get togethers. If you think that teenagers get wild, just wait until their parents get a chance to cut loose. Of course, the parents are worse than their teens about telling the truth when asked what they did the night before.

So, you can probably imagine my surprise when I walked out my door and found that I had an unannounced visitor. As I stood on my porch trying to figure out how a pair of my underwear got into my neighbor’s tree, I felt a set of eyes scrutinizing me. Now, it wasn’t the usual hot glare that I feel as my other neighbor lights into me, yelling about me parking my truck in his hedge. No, this time, the feeling was one of curiosity. I scanned around and then I saw a pair of dark eyes peeking over the edge of the porch. Behind the eyes was a fuzzy, brown tail that was pulsing with a nervous twitch. It seems that one of the local squirrels had dropped by for an impromptu visit.

Now, I may not be the most popular guy in the world, but I bet that there aren’t that many people who can brag that a squirrel picked them to hang out with. I think that the little fellow sensed that he and I shared a common level of brain capacity. Whatever the reason, I was excited to have a new pal to listen to my monotonous ramblings on whatever pointless thought that flickers aimlessly through my mind.

I have to admit something. I am not that adept in the interpretation of the squirrel dialect. Spend a little time in conversation with me and you’ll notice that I really haven’t grasped the English language very well. Hey, don’t laugh. I’ll have you know that the skill of pointing and grunting as a means of communication has gotten me this far in life and if it ain’t broke, don’t fax it…or however that saying goes.

Anyway, I noticed that my furry buddy looked a little hungry and me being the gracious host that I am, went to see what I had in my pantry. By the way, be careful when asking a girl if you can look in her pantries. Take it from me, it’s a lot less painful if you make sure that you speak slowly enough, carefully pronouncing the ’r’ so that she understands exactly what you mean.

What I found in my p-a-n-t-R-y( see, that’s not hard to do) wasn’t much to brag about. Actually, I have no idea where some of that stuff came from. I mean, who ever heard of pancakes in a can? Or pickled licorice? I suppose those items were on sale when I bought them. I decided to try the old hamburger buns on my visitor thinking that he was after all dropping by unannounced. Well let me tell you folks, he really dug into my moldy buns. He acted as if he couldn’t get enough. He pawed at them like a….ummm, just to make sure that we are on the same page here…you do know that I am talking about the hamburger buns being moldy…not my…oh, never mind.

After the squirrel had his fill of this free feast he stood at the edge of my porch launching little barks at me. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted until I noticed that his voice sounded a bit scratchy. He was thirsty! So, back inside I go.

If you think that my pantRy is in bad shape, you should see my fridge. It’s as empty as an ’adopt a cannibal’ fund raiser. Still, I couldn’t let my hairy friend down so I grabbed a bottle of Shiner Bock beer and poured it into a small bowl.

Again, my offering was met with great success. The little guy really went for the suds in a big way. I couldn’t pour fast enough! I felt like a bartender at an Irish wedding. He just kept drinking whatever I put in the bowl. Even when he started wobbling, he never quit. When I had one lonely bottle left I decided to cut the squirrel off. My hospitality only goes so far. This of course didn’t sit too well with the squirrel.

The only worse thing than having a drunk squirrel on your porch, is having a drunk squirrel inside your house. And that’s exactly what happened. The tiny beast ran past me and into my living room where he proceeded to rampage through everything. Genghis Khan was more civilized than this monster. No matter how hard I tried to corner him, the squirrel was much more elusive. I finally gave up after he ran under the bed. I figured that it would be best just to let him sleep it off. Some critters just can’t handle their booze.

Eventually, the squirrel came to his senses and after a few more attacks on my furniture, found his way out through the open front door. I had to grin at his clumsy attempt to climb up his tree. Man, that guy is going to have one heck of a hangover tomorrow. Maybe I should leave a bowl of tomato juice and a couple of aspirins out on the lawn for him.

Well, at least I remembered an important lesson. It is a lesson that I learned long ago. Always keep some cheap beer on hand for those guests that pop in unexpected. Let them have their fill of the dreadful brew while you enjoy the good stuff.

After all, badgers can’t be choosers…or however that saying goes.

Take care.