Bettie the fifties housewife here.
I’m cooking for a dinner party.
There is nothing like cooking for a dinner party.
I’m just so happy to be cooking a meatloaf for Bill and all of his work friends this evening.
Dinner parties make your husband look good.
For example, If I don’t make the perfect meatloaf, Bill’s boss will think he keeps beating him at golf as some sort of idiot savant.
Okay . . . everyone has arrived.
Better just set the table.
Did I seem too manly when I strode across the room to get that damask tablecloth out of the cupboard? I hope not!
Oh, okay. Bill’s work friends didn’t even notice. Thank goodness.
They’re knee-deep in cocktails.
I never get to play hard. Why is that?
I’ll just mosey back over to the stove.
Here, let me just get that for you.
Bill just dropped his drink.
His boss is here — he’s old as Methuselah.
He’s going to make me uncomfortable while he breathes his creepy breath in my face.