Apparently I accidentally traumatized the neighborhood.
I invited four people over for dinner.
Two of them called separately asking if this was…
…a dinner party.
One asked if it was my birthday.
Another asked if they needed to wear nice clothes.
Buddy…
It’s spaghetti.
Not the Met Gala.
Meanwhile I’m the “city guy” ruining rural culture because I suggested eating at the same table at the same time.
Next week I’m really stirring things up.
Napkins.
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