Writing Prompt: Dinner was served.

Morning all. I feel like I could have used several more hours of sleep last night. But alas, the alarm did not concur. And so the morning has begun. I’m sure I will be fine once the coffee is brewed and in my cup. For now, we let Mr. Coffee work his magic while we get started on the morning prompt. So timers set and off we go.

I sense a murder gone wrong coming on. Just need to think about the details.

Thursday, June 5^th: Dinner was served.

Dinner was served.  There was no escaping.  ‘I should have had an emergency when we were having cocktails in the lounge,’ I thought to myself as the soup course was placed in front of me.  Then I could have faked a call from work and gotten out of the affair.  Unfortunately Catherine made us all put our cell phones in a basket before sitting down to dinner.  My only viable means of politely escaping was now sitting in the other room with everyone else’s electronics.  The basket was locked in a cabinet so no one need fear that anyone would go through the phones while they were out of our sight.

That was said with a laugh as Catherine brandished the key.  It hadn’t been something I expected and I noticed the looks on the faces of several others at the table that they had not suspected anyone of going through their phones before.

If it was a joke it fell flat.

‘Probably just in the cabinet to muffle the rings,’ I thought as I waited for everyone to be served.  I didn’t think anyone would actually call me so it was less of a concern than the possibility of using it as an escape hatch.

Everyone was served and our host, Catherine’s husband Hugh lifted his spoon thus signaling the rest of us that it was okay to begin.  The soup was a tomato basil that could have used a lot more basil and a bit more salt. It was somewhat acidic and I only managed part of a spoonful before I ended up miming eating, concentrating on conversation more than dining. I hoped no one noticed the level of my bowl didn’t decrease.  

All of us made polite comments as Catherine gushed about the chef.  There was no name dropping.  He was just ‘the chef we brought in for the night’ and ‘he came highly recommended’.  It was odd for Catherine. 

There were few things she liked better than a good name drop.

There was polite small talk around the spoonful’s of soup.  Weather was the predominant topic.  Current weather took us through the soup course and upcoming weather lasted through the salad.  The salad was shredded iceberg decorated with a tomato wedge, and sprinkled over with an aggressively astringent vinaigrette.

‘If it is a vinaigrette,’ I thought as I pushed the leaves around on the plate.  My dressing tasted like straight up vinegar.  I stole a glance around the table as Michael asked me about the recent spate of tornados in the area blending talk of past weather with questions about a possible recurrence in the future.  It was not difficult to follow and participate.  It also allowed me to cut up the shredded lettuce so it looked more eaten than it had been.  I cut the pieces up finely and shifted them towards the rim of the salad plate leaving a bare open spot that I hoped looked as though I managed to eat some of it. 

I fought not to frown.  Catherine tended to like the look of food more than the taste, but the food at one of these forced gatherings was usually better than this.