hostess with the leastest.

I may have poisoned some people.

I had houseguests the other night, two old girlfriends from high school, their husbands, and their babies. They were stopping in town on the way to D.C. to go to a wedding. I didn't have to make them dinner last night because they got in late. So I made cookies, just to show off. This morning, I had a solid breakfast planned: an egg, bacon, and potato casserole and made-from-scratch biscuits. There were blankets, towels, and pillows for everyone. I am not a natural hostess, but I can manage with proper planning.

It seems that when you buy a house, people suddenly want to come stay at it, as if they've grown tired of their own homes and need a break. I don't mind the company; it was just an unexpected aspect of home ownership. I think I had two overnight guests in the two years I lived in the apartment, and I've already had that many in the month I've been in the house.

I put the casserole and biscuits on the table, made sure there was juice and milk to go around, and we all had a pleasant breakfast. The casserole - it's a solid recipe. It's nothing that makes people moan in delight or immediately demand the recipe, but it's fairly hearty and no one seems to hate it. It's also pretty quick and easy to make, using ingredients that I typically have on hand. Sometimes, it's all about convenience.

After breakfast, my friends packed up and drove on down the road, after coaxing their babies to say "bye bye" to the strange lady they just met but who fed them cookies the previous night. I took a quick shower and headed to work, relaxed because it was Friday and I had the hostessing experience out of the way. I mean, I enjoyed their company, but it's still stressful to me. Does that ever go away?

I'd been at my desk for maybe half an hour when my body communicated an urgent desire to head for the restroom. I'll spare you the specifics, but my system was not happy with something that I had put into it. Usually when that happens, I get everything out the first time and then I'm fine. It was not so this time. Instead, I was left with a pain in my stomach, as if I'd eaten rocks this morning, big ones. I drank some Sprite in the hopes that I could burp out whatever was causing my tummy such grief. It did not work. The rocks stayed.

At some point, I stopped being so selfish and thought about my poor friends. I thought about them being sick all the way to D.C. Then I thought about them feeling sick during the wedding and not enjoying it, or worse, missing the wedding completely. Then I remembered that they had babies, who might also be sick, and the rocks in my stomach were joined by terrible, crushing guilt.

I wanted to call them up to see how they were doing. But what good would that do? If they were fine, then I would feel better (at least mentally). But if they were miserable and had rocks in their tummies and cranky rock-filled babies, what could I do to help them - tell them Sprite doesn't help? So I left it alone and hoped that they were fine. On the bright side, I probably don't have to worry about them coming back.