Dinner parties and Rocky Dodges

So, today I’m a little bit furious. Climbing husband, who goodness knows needs and deserves a break doing what he loves – climbing up and dangling off stuff – is in the bat cave (mountaineers’ equivalent of dog house).

Because making social arrangements is ‘the woman’s domain’ men, as we know, aren’t required to listen or take action. Nor, apparently, are they required to make their own apologies when they cock up dinner arrangements with lovely friends who I know will make every effort to make our evening with them really enjoyable.

But then, when you’re married to a man whose idea of heaven is a soil closet toilet and sleeping in a snow hole, I suppose a really good Borolo and an exquisite cheeseboard (he doesn’t like cheese, and I’m damned if I’m letting him even sniff the Borolo) doesn’t come close.

However, like an avalanche warning, hear this. You’ve got some social climbing to do matey, and you’re already on a slippery slope.

Apologies to the lovely Carol D, and thank goodness she’s a fox in the kitchen and adept at the bar – meaning she can invite hoards of women friends at the drop of a hat so that we can still enjoy our long planned night out and I won’t feel like a total Muppet.

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