I could glorify my birthday and pretend that I wasn't a nervous hostess, that I had the chance to have a relaxed conversation with each and every one of my guests, that the birthday girl could actually enjoy her birthday. I did have episodes of euphoria and pleasure, thank goodness. But one of the most fulfilling moments of the evening was seeing what the folks at the host restaurant put together for the party-goers. Leftover fried chicken from one hell of an exruciatingly, satisfyingly, goddammit-isn't-this-what-it-means-to-be-alive indulgent meal, to go. How it delighted the ambitious and control-loving hostess in me.
"And the following day, the guests thought of the revelry, the sparkling of unsober eyes and the crust of the chicken, which was just as crunchy, just as noisy in the mouth, the very next day."
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