Mostest what? That can just go so many different ways. Mostest Salmonella from undercooked dinner? I could pull that off. Mostest sharp Lego landmines per square capita? . Mostest recorded episodes of cartoons AND reality TV? We got ’em. Mostest mystery cream filling in a Hostess Twinkie? Delish. I suspected this superior level of catering to guests required a level of class and elegance I’ve yet to reach, so in an effort to sophisticate myself I went to etiquette school. Just kidding. I googled “How To Have People At Your House And Not Scare Them” and read up on the good ‘ol glossy art of playing Hostess. Pinterest was full of most-hostessing pics involving hand painted table cards and elaborate dinner spreads, tips on how to fit the most touristy time into an itinerary, and various crafty/homemade extras to add in to make ones guest feel right at home. Needless to say, I was terrified. It was Internet Cotillion. All that was missing were the white gloves and an awkward waltz partner.
But you see, I kind of immediately need to figure out this gracious art form. I realized, despite months of conversations, that tomorrow I’ll pick up THE Woman Wielding Words, Lisa Kramer from the airport. I’ll get to spend a week with this lovely lady and meet up with the also word-talented Miss Andra Watkins as she hikes her way towards Nashville to promote her Natchez Trace-based book. I, maybe, told Andra to stay here, too, when she’s done walking 444 miles on her two feet. I realized I hadn’t so much learned to cook or even maintain a calm household and I maybe forgot to think about this when I gave these bloggy friends the impression that staying at my place was way, way, way more luxurious than any old Hampton Inn. I might’ve left out large details such as: my toddler son has been known to gallop naked around the house yelling “WEINER SHAKE!”, I have actually messed up boiled water, and no square inch of floor is safe as your toes will find some sharp edge of a Hot Wheels/ Lego/ Made In China contraption. I got so excited to spend a week with a them that I, perhaps, didn’t pay much mind to the fact that most humans don’t eat Hot Pockets & Pop Tarts for supper. My social itinerary typically includes many rounds of hardwood floor skating in socks (Thomas almost has his triple lutz), watching my dog chase squirrels in the back yard, nomming a variety of brightly colored pre-packaged foods. Is this not what you girls meant when you spoke of seeing the sights in Nashville?
I’ve been staring at screenshots of glitter-dipped welcome notes on Pinterest and trying to learn a lifetime of proper domesticity with a quickness. My natural environment involves limited access to flammable materials, an abundance of cartoons, and a neighborhood view of cows and fields with cows in them. The chic corner of cyberspace would like to tell me that to entertain, to hostess the mostess, I must have these skills. Luckily, I’ve got a husband who knows the way I am wired, or in this case, the way I am very much not. When he walked into the kitchen and sees me jabbing at buttons to make two mixing spoons twirl, I tell him, worried, that I only have 40 hours to figure out what this thing is for. He tells me with his eyes that I should calm the hell down. That it’s ok not to hostess the mostess. That some people watch Honey Boo Boo because they find hillbilly adorable. That these women of the writer persuasion are creative enough to appreciate the circus-freak happenings of this wild, wild house. That we have all the basics covered, and their visits will be, if nothing else, adventurous.
As any good hostess knows, we offer delicious gourmet eats.
Activities? We’ve got in-house entertainment for days.
Now offering complimentary wake up calls to make sure you are up dark & early at 4 am
Lisa & Andra, there will not be filet mignon. None that I cook, anyways. My dog will stare in your eyes and lick your feet and never break eye contact for such creepy lengths of time that you will later reminisce and feel suddenly violated. My son will want to give you an item-by-item tour of the entire house by announcing “THIS. THIS is a pantry. And THIS. THIS is a can of soup”. I will burn several meals but have take-out menus on standby. A good hostess, after all, is always prepared. I will get us lost driving roads that I have seen and travelled since birth, but my stellar car singing will distract from the added mileage before the destination. I can’t promise you classy, girls. Like not even Hampton Inn classy. Like not even really those by-the-hour-motel-catering-to-spandex-skirted-professionals classy. But I can promise you good-humored conversation, an extensive catalogue of animated movies, clean sheets, and wine. Here’s to your weirdest and friendliest lodging experience!
Reader, are you a natural host/ hostess?
Did you have to read a book or were you just born ready to “set out the good plates” or what?
To check out Andra’s amazing #ToLiveForeverBook & follow her 400+ mile trek along the Natchez Trace click HERE.
Stay tuned for updates on our bloggy adventures. Most of them will be wine-themed, with a few gross dinner shots thrown in for good measure.