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In the first grade, I threw my first dinner party. It went downhill from there.

I'll admit it: I was a precocious tyke. In the first grade, I somehow learned the word “canapé.” 

It sounded exotic, so it had to be delicious!

Somehow, I convinced two or three other little girls that our palates were sophisticated enough to spend a Saturdayentertaining each other with various tasty tidbits.


Do I remember what I begged my mother to make for my canapé offering? Gee, I wish I did. 

Sorry to say, too much water has gone under that bridge. My guess: crackers and cream cheese were involved. Maybe a little jam too.


More than likely, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were the main course.


You'll be glad to know that, as I got older, I graduated to grander hostessing events. Once I had my extended family to dinner—but left the giblets bag in the turkey cavity. And then there was the time I made a Martha Stewart flour-less chocolate cake. From the looks on my guests' faces, I guess I didn't use sugar either.


Luckily, only one of my soirées sent a few folks to the hospital. To my credit, it wasn't me who under-baked the ham that my guests were served. That was the grocery store's fault! 

And yes, I gave the manager an earful. Of course, my carpets were full too—of puke

Then again, so was the hospital emergency room, where a few of my guests ended up.


Ah, good times…


By the way, if you get an invitation to any of my shindigs, I won't be upset if you come up with a good excuse to pass.

Be duly warned: you'll miss a helluva party!

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