Ok, there are an infinite number of ways…place a bag of Oreos or a carton of Ben & Jerrys on it, have one or more dark skinned, muscular spanish-speaking men sit there first, or, do it my way:
Whet her appetite by promising food, friends, and presents. She was here at sun-up. Then have her stand in the hot sun, watching The Primary Wife and Beantown Bob’s lovely and talented spouse plant marigolds around the garden. Do not feed her yet.
Next, when she runs low on Diet Dr. Pepper, suggest she not have another, but rather wait a few minutes and have an adult beverage. Let her sit quietly in the corner while she ponders this. Do not feed her.
When the guests start arriving, send her on a quick errand, like maybe to take a certain guest back down the hill to retrieve his car, which, for some reason, he thought would not be welcome in my driveway. Methodically begin to unpack the cases of alcohol your best buddy decided to bring with him. Find the 100 proof vodka. Tilt your head back and laugh maniacally and prepare Ms. B a Cape Cod, but do so only by rigidly following this recipe:
Fill glass with ice. Pour the 100 proof vodka into the glass while reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, and continue to pour until you say “with liberty and justice for all.” (If there is still room in the glass, you have done something wrong, perhaps, say, omitting the “under God” part, but, no matter, simply add a thimble-full of cranberry juice. ) Take it to her ALONG WITH HER PRESENT. She will be literally bouncing in her seat, and will not want to spoil her gift-getting moment by complaining that her drink tastes a little strong. Repeat this several times. Do not feed her.
Tip: About the third or fourth time, don’t worry if you are out of presents for her…simply remove something from her purse which is always lying around, and pretend that you are giving it to her anew. Trust me, she will never snap to this clever ruse. Not once.
It is now time to introduce a shot of tequila, as long as it is not accompanied by any food.
Feed her the following things, in this precise order:
1. Chips and guacamole, infused with as much jalapeno as you can locate.
2. Tortilla Emplanada, Empesada, Embarcadero knishes with potato.
3. Fry bread. (Its really just Pita deep fried and cut into triangles, and there is curiously never enough to go around)
4. Cajun Shrimp Boil, with corn, sausage,potatos, and, of course, 21-25 shrimp.
5. Expertly grilled chicken breasts, lovingly basted with a secret but purchasable family recipe, and dusted with cayenne pepper.
7. Birthday Cake, preferably baked by an expert like The Missus. IMPORTANT SAFETY TIP! Remind B to blow out the candles before she plunges her face into the 4 inches of frosting atop said cake.
Surround her with the right mix of writers, aspiring playwrights, smart women with poor taste in hats, car salesmen, children, and gentlemen farmers, and wait. There will be raucous laughter, lascivious leering and ogling (mostly of the women), numerous bathroom trips, declarations of love, declarations of war, then….suddenly, you will notice that Aunt B has disappeared. Do not panic. You will soon find her sprawled out on your leather sofa, too “relaxed” to notice that the children are poking her with sticks and laughing gleefully. She will remain there until you have had your second cup of morning coffee.
34 responses to “How To Get Aunt B On Yer Couch”
There was chicken? How did I miss that?
When you are victimized by 100 proof vodka its easy to miss a few things, shame though the chicken was delicious. Everything was great, but my cake was lame. I had great time.
This made me smile.
Had a wonderful time!!!! Sorry I missed the food, but am very glad all went well without any major explosions due to drunk Mexican lighting fire with diesel fuel.
Your deck rocks!
And I’m glad that there were no battles over food due to drunk Mexican giving misleading information about how many mouths there would be to feed. Otherwise, it was a lovely day. Thanks, Mack.
Mail me a taco or somethin’!!
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Dammit. I miss all the good parties.
As usual, I wasn’t invited.
I’m very interesting to talk with and to party with, yet the blogosphere in Nashville thinks I’m not worthy of socializing with.
When my memoirs come out and y’all actually know the truth, instead of the ridiculous lies, innuendos and….
Hope y’all had fun.
Sharon, it wasn’t a blogger-driven party. It was a private party at a private home. These go on all over Nashville, on any given day. The list of parties i don’t get invited to is legendary…
I was so sad I didn’t have cake to take home and eat. Don’t downplay the wonderfulness of the cake. It was very, very good.
Sounds like a blast! I expect y’all and then some when I come out!!! And bring extra cake!
It was awful, actually. All that sneaking into the kitchen to put more cranberry juice in the Cape Cods, the bread running short, the number of total strangers one was expected to make nice with just because they were interesting — it’s a miracle anyone survived.
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B, sorry about the cake, the only reason I took it home was because it was on my cake plate. I’ll have to make another next time you come up here. Will you be here this weekend?
Heartbreaktown, When are you going to come visit? It would give my an excuse to throw another party!
Sorry it would give Mack an excuse to throw another party, I’m still recovering.
After that combination of stuff, I’m thinking you’re lucky she didn’t toss her cookies on your leather couch.
The Missus, I hope so! It’s early in the week to know, but I do like to get up there when I can.
Lynnster, true enough. He left me a garbage can right by my head, just in case.
I will probably come with Heartbreaktown…you are going to need a lot more food and southern comfort.
Oh The Missus – Are you THE Missus???
Duh – Light dawns on MarbleHead!
I’m shootin’ for a Fall visit. But I don’t know if I can travel in the car with Woody & Mrs Woody. Music choices = Oldies & Meatloaf.
I might have to Greyhound it.
Heartbreak…The Missus is my best friend. I lovingly refer to her husband as my best friend, but thats mostly because calling him “raise-boy” gets him irritated.
You guys are welcome anytime…but could ya let me know with some lead-time?
I despise Meatloaf. If I want to have someone scream me a song…I’ll listen to Springsteen.
We’ll call when we’re pulling up in the driveway.
Oh, really? The Missus is your BFF? Is that so?
Well, that’s fine. I’ll be your BFCL.
Oops, that would be your BCL (Best Chopped Liver).
And, by far, the cutest chopped liver you know.
I dunno, I’ve heard there’s a gourmet store where he’s all the time going in and eyeing the paté.
Is it Sandy Paté? Because I reckon she is cuter than me.
This discussion has strayed a bit, I think. Mail me a piece of cake, please, without the vodka!
Great job. The one time I tell Mrs. Woody to read your blog you insult her MeatLoaf.