The Aftermath

"Swept away, briskly, go the bones of the dead..." - Me, in a rare fit of Poetry

The aftermath of a dinner party is a cruel thing indeed. Maybe you were falling asleep on your wife's shoulder late that night, maybe there were still guests. Trying to scratch together how many glasses of wine you drank, how many bottles of beer - these are bad ideas, futile. Was there cake? There is no way to be certain. Where's the furniture? The undeniable truth is that yes, all the furniture has been rearranged, and that things won't go back to normal for days.

As much as you want to put everything back immediately, day one of the aftermath is shot, useless, no-good. If you're lucky, you might remove the evidence of food on day two. Might. That's fine, the guests have already left - who's to judge.

Day three. Courage, embarrassment and the sense that you can't live like this anymore all provide the right brain chemicals to finally get things done. This is when you get your life back. The tables are moved, the chairs arranged, things may even get washed. Now I'm not saying it's going to be perfect, but at least it's a start.