My stepson and his girlfriend came round for dinner last night.
These dinners have traditionally been pretty boozy affairs – at least for me. They’re a young couple, very cool – he’s an artist and she’s studying to be a teacher – and a lot of fun. I love being in their company but also find myself trying hard to impress them (whilst trying hard to look like I’m not trying hard!)
All of us usually have a few drinks and our dinners together are filled with conversation about all sorts of topics and usually a lot of laugher – often at my husband’s expense. My stepson and I still bond over making fun of his dad.
On previous occasions, I have almost always had something go wrong with the meal and almost always looked back at the evening and berated myself for drinking too much and oversharing in a sort of “aunt at a wedding” kind of way. I’ve always put these things down to too much alcohol but, wierdly, last night wasn’t any different.
I chose to cook steak. I don’t really know how to cook steak well but I had them in the fridge and we needed to use them so I figured I’d give it a go. I cooked them on too high a heat and filled the kitchen with smoke so we had to open all the doors to the winter night in order to clear the acrid stench and see each other through the murk. I also messed up the timings of the accompanying dishes so the steaks were ready before everything else and I served the sauces cold. These are exactly the kind of mistakes I would previously have put down to alcohol but last night I was drinking sparkling water.
After dinner, our conversation turned to ‘silly things we’ve done’ and I joined in with gusto. Bring on ‘oversharing aunty’.
As they left, I looked around at the carnage in the kitchen and thought about my cringe-worthy contributions to the conversation and thought…maybe it’s just me. I thought the alcohol dramatically altered my behaviour. What if all it really did was alter how I felt about my behaviour? Hmm.