In spring, it is a wonderful time to host dinner parties. The sun sets later and twilight exists for a much longer period. It is during that time one has drinks, sits and chats, and finds the time to exchange ideas about what one has read, seen, or experienced. I listened to stories about work, plans for vacation, and even a story about one's own past that I had not remembered for quite some time.

Afterwards, there are those things a host must do, apart from the tiresome but real responsibility of cleaning up. Nobody wants roaches and I for one would prefer to keep those miserable creatures at bay. Having conversations days after, people will inevitably mention their experience, the good time they had, etc. In one conversation days later, I chatted with a male guest who spends much of his time feeling the need to keep elevated boundaries, particularly in the workplace, because his co-workers are often boorish and disrespectful in conversation. It is unfortunate that as people's social abilities diminish more and more, that fewer people are able to socialize appropriately at a dinner party. Instead, people find themselves braced for that selfish conversationalist, the one who makes everything about him or herself. He is a nincompoop of the worst sort, the one whom a good host will have to undermine at every turn in order to protect guests. Or, one might even suffer from the neanderthalesque charms of the one who insists on speaking of inappropriate topics: physical ailments, prurient commentary, or bathroom humor, all make for poor conversation.

At a dinner party in the late fall, two partners almost began a spat in the middle of the table when they could not agree on when they had started dating. The confusion between them ignited a potential rift which was gently swirling into an inescapable whirlpool only made colorful by their humor between them which was rapidly depleting. Before it could escalate further, I commented quickly on the cake, loud enough to generate a ripple of mitigating laughter, something which they all recognized, including the lovers, the moment I said in an unmistakably stentorian tone: "Oh, this mango cake is lovely..." One of them thanked me discreetly, knowing full well that it was not the time to discuss when they had first found each other worthy of deep love. At least, not at a dinner party intended to celebrate another person's life.