So Mr. Twinks' entire family came for dinner tonight, and it was fun and all that. MIL is always on her best behavior at these events, and is appropriately complimentary--although she did bring a ginormous plate of assorted cookies and desserts, the circumference of which was larger than any surface area in my home. I know she wishes we lived in a super-sized McMansion in Sutherland chosen by her, but let's be realistic: this is the Highlands, biatch, and things here are scaled more tastefully. And I swear I don't mean that b*tchy.
I had a moment of calm just before the guests arrived, when I felt like I was actually going to pull it all off successfully and have everything hot but not burnt. A moment later I saw Mr. Twinkle's cousin bouncing her happy *ss up to my front door. She got there 45 minutes early to "help," and started by reaching her hands into the ice bucket to fill the glasses, completely ignoring the scoop whose sole purpose in life is to keep everyone's ice clean and free of fingerprints and germs. Call me an uppity b*tch, but in the Twinkle household, we use an ice scoop.
When I started putting food out and said, "Go ahead and help yourself," it was a suggestion for her to take a taste of the Dolls cheese torte, maybe sample a little Barefoot Contessa smoked salmon spread while I finished putting out the hot dishes. She took this as an invitation to put her hand into the quiche that was cooling on the countertop, and extract a bite of tomato, egg, and cheese. Yes, she reached right into the quiche, the very one whose crust and filling I slaved over. Not what I meant by my invitation to "help yourself."
Speaking of helping yourself, after dinner and cleanup (which involved several dishwasher runs, hand-washing a dozen or so each highball, champagne, and julep glasses, and an exhaustive search for a lost spoon during which calamity and panic ensued), when I was about to pass out from exhaustion and still had more to do, Mr. Twinkle thought it would be a good time to come up to me, pull up my dress, and dry hump me from behind. Y'all know I'm not one to turn down a good roll in the hay with Mr. Twinks, but that was neither the time, the place, nor the most appropriate means of seduction. I mean, the way I was feeling right then (and now), he would probably have had a more interactive time with a decorative pillow. My advice to him: try me again in the morning, and start with a backrub.
Sorry if that's appalling, dears...that's what a stealth blog is for. Y'all need to come back and start posting again! It's supposed to be our blog...not the All-Twinkle show!
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