Face Off Over Evening Out

The posh neighbours invited us over for drinks and canapés. I had seen them once since we had first been to their house. They had had a Christmas party at a local Mexican ...

. . . restaurant? Would you call it a restaurant? A tiny room upstairs with sparse seating and a wall length bar; an equally small room downstairs with more seating, but sofa style. A restaurant or bar or wannabe dive? Joint. I'll settle on . . .

... joint on the Kings Road. The Man was out of town so I had gone alone. Posh Man greeted me enthusiastically at the door; he took my jacket and introduced me to two or three people before turning to greet new arrivals. I spent most of the evening talking to a significantly surgically-altered Italian widow and wondering how long I would have to stay before it would not be rude to leave. Everyone seemed very nice, but on that night I wasn't in the mood to make the effort required to hold up my end of the small talk.

When I was ready to go able to leave without seeming like a boring old dowd, American Wife of Posh Man retrieved my coat and thanked me for coming. Posh Man and his American Wife are exceedingly gracious and stylish, and on that particular occasion, I will admit I was a little intimidated. It must have had something to do with the venue's Chelsea address.

I had checked with My Man whether he would want to go to the evening of drinks and canapés. In fact, I had checked and double-checked, because (a) I am not the type of wife who forces her man to attend social events; (b) I know My Man is particular about how he spends his spare time - I respect that; and (c) I knew I would rather NOT go for drinks and canapés than go alone, so if I was going to accept the invitation, I was going to accept for both of us. My Man didn't just agree to go. He positively encouraged me to accept. My Man is fond of Posh Man and his American Wife; they are interesting, well-educated people with a set of funny, international friends. "Sure I'll go. They're cool."

Unfortunately, on the morning of the evening of drinks and canapés, My Man took a dose of Night Nurse to address a bout of sniffles and a phlegm-y cough. Consequently he slept all day. As the hour for getting ready approached he regained semi-consciousness and sheepishly asked me if I would mind if he didn't go. The look on my face said it all, but in case there was any doubt I said it.

"Yes. I do mind."

I had only just recently recovered from sniffles and phlegm-laden cough myself. I suspected My Man was just less in the mood to go (groggy and tired) rather than out-and-out sick. I had no sympathy.

Who takes a product called 'Night Nurse' first thing in the morning anyway?

A tiny pang of guilt wrestled with my annoyance, serving to frustrate me more.

"If you really don't feel well enough to go, don't go." I might have said with a huff.

The Man pulled himself out of bed, put himself together, and in the end thoroughly enjoyed the drinks and canapés.

I will admit it wouldn't have been so bad to go alone.