What is that about? I've sent I don't know how many reminders. I get that some people can't come. Or maybe they just don't want to. Maybe they think they're sparing my feelings by not giving me an outright "No." They are wrong. They're all driving me crazy, because I have no idea how much food to buy.
I probably bought too much. Which means that my family will be eating frozen-then-thawed turkey burgers three times a week for the remainder of the summer.
My Fourth of July party is going to be ruined again this year. I know this, yet I am powerless to stop it.
I know that one guest will arrive 20 minutes early, because they want to "help." My husband will be out buying ice, and I'll be in the shower, yelling at my four-year-old to answer the door. He'll refuse, because he knows more about basic child safety than I do. Now, as I put the finishing touches on my makeup, hair, and seven side dishes, I'm simultaneously tasked with entertaining this jerk.
Four guests will offer to bring a dish. How thoughtful! One will bring a box of crackers and a brick of unsliced cheese in a grocery bag, casually mentioning, "Oh, yeah, that needs a plate," as they head towards to the bucket of beer. Two will bring pasta salad (which I already made). The person who offered to bring salad will show up at nine o'clock at night.
My husband will toil away for hours, compiling the perfect playlist. This will preclude him from helping me clean the house. Something will go wrong with the computer at the last minute, and we won't have music for the first half hour. When we finally do, it will be perfect, except for that one N.W.A. song that always ends up sneaking in.
At some point, a childless person will end up alone with my son. This person will have absolutely no experience with kids, and he'll end up doing something stupid like tossing him up in the air repeatedly until he pukes, or asking him where Mommy keeps the good vodka (shh... it's behind the animal crackers).
One person will break something, and three people will spill something. None of them will have the guts to admit this to me, so they'll either hide the evidence, or do a piss-poor job trying to take care of it themselves. I will curse them when I find mold behind a bookcase in September.
Lest you think that I'm blaming everyone else for my problems, I'll readily admit to you that I fully expect to be responsible for a few problems myself:
I will forget to invite someone I love dearly, and they will probably sit at home alone, watching their Facebook feed fill up with pictures and status updates from everyone at the party. They will hate me forever.
I'll lay out seven types of sunscreen and three types of bug spray in the bathroom, but I will neglect to stock the toilet paper. Inevitably, some guest will be in for a humiliating experience when they have to drip-dry and then hunt me down to ask for more.
I will forget to serve the watermelon and popsicles. I always do. I just can't seem to find a way around this, short of putting up a sign advertising "Popsicles in the Freezer!" If you're coming to my house this year, please do me a favor and just ask for it.
Are you a good party planner? I'd love some advice.
This post originally appeared on In the Powder Room.