I have a notorious little habit of showing up late. Indeed, it seems to be an ingrained Pomerantz tradition. As in, “Oh—we’re eating at noon but tell Pomerantz to come at 10 so at least they’ll be somewhat on time!”
I have a notorious little habit of showing up late. Indeed it seems to be an ingrained Pomerantz tradition. As in “Oh—we’re eating at noon but tell Pomerantz to come at 10 so at least they’ll be somewhat on time!” J This sticky little habit combined with a longstanding tradition that Shabbos morning is my hallowed sleep-late treat (kindly granted to me by my children!) means that when I actually make it to a friend’s Kiddush on Shabbos morning before everyone’s long gone home I give myself a good pat on the back! Well-deserved no?
This week I scored points by showing up to Rachel’s Kiddush at a pretty decent hour. As I schmoozed in Rachel’s living room this Shabbos admiring her beautiful new daughter and the display of cakes the conversation flowed easily—y’know the usual: laundry parenting and of course jealously sighing about those women who somehow managed to send over their professional creations—fruit platters mini tarts and sinful double-chocolate ganache pie to mention just a few. (I sent a humble if tasty banana chocolate-chip cake!) We were having a grand old time when I spotted my husband from the men’s side sending that subtle time-honored signal that means “I’m going home but we both know you’ll be talking for another hour at least!” It was then that I suddenly remembered The Promise.
Y’know—The Promise. I mean how else does a mother obtain permission to leave the house sans children on a Shabbos morning if not with fervent promises of bringing some loot for those poor abandoned starving waifs back home? Er at least that’s how it works in our house! Trouble is if there’s one thing I really hate it’s doggie-bagging. I know I know there are those out there with absolutely no compunctions about taking home entire platters of food (what’s a big evening bag for anyway!). I am not a member of that particular club. But a promise is a promise so I asked my hostess if she minded if I took home four small pieces of the aforementioned double-chocolate ganache pie. The crowd had thinned out considerably and the table was still well-laden so my request was granted most graciously.
It triggered a memory of an article I wrote a few months ago. While the topic of the piece was invitation etiquette one of the party planners I had interviewed had a wealth of wisdom to share on a different facet of the topic. I hadn’t been able to include it in the actual article but it’s perfectly apropos right here as you’ll soon see.
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