Home is Where is the Party Is

 

Somehow I Married Oscar the Grouch’s Handsome Cousin

Fred may not be green or live in a trash can (although his desk has been known to resemble one) but like that lovable Sesame Street anti-hero my husband is a curmudgeon.

I suppose that’s a little strong. He doesn’t actually hate people, unless they’re visitors in our house for more than about two hours.

The problem is that I’m the exact opposite. While I’m not a classic extrovert like my middle son who would have daily dinner parties if we let him, I do relish time with my friends.

Prior to having kids, I was unaware of Fred’s people allergy. We went out on a regular basis to jazz clubs, festivals, friends’ houses, you know name it. I suppose “out” was the key word in that phrase. Once the kids came along, I was more inclined to want to bring in the fun so we wouldn’t need a sitter or have to worry about the kids destroying something if we took them out.

Unfortunately, that new approach exposed two major issues: Martha Stewart doesn’t live here and Fred is not a people person.

Admittedly, my perfectionist gene hasn’t exactly helped things. Whenever we’re having people over, I feel the need to frantically clean (hide) our messes, which significantly raises the tension level in the house because most of the things I’m hiding are his.

Recently, however, we reached a compromise. I’ve promised to “take it down a thousand” when we’re entertaining, and Fred has agreed to be hospitable once a quarter. That means I won’t stress over the menu or the infinite piles of stuff (at least when he’s around), and he won’t start his stopwatch as soon as the guests arrive.

- Kim

Attack of the Cleaning Zombie

My wife is a classic extrovert. She loves people and derives great pleasure from social interactions.

Conversely, I am an introvert who prefers solitude. Although I like meeting new people and hanging out, the interactions physically and mentally drain me.

Therein lies the problem.

If I would agree to it, Kim would invite people over to our house every weekend. But I simply cannot deal with the relationship strain that hosting an event causes.

About a week before the event, Kim’s stress increases by an order of magnitude each day. She starts making lists, shopping, and frantically searching for plates that match. On the day of the event, Kim turns into a cleaning zombie. The house is a flurry of activity resulting in many of my things disappearing from view.

“No talk. Must clean,” she says as she methodically inspects the house for anything that is out of place.

This volatile period causes many arguments. Kim is upset because she doesn’t feel like I’m contributing to the effort and I’m upset because I can’t find any of my stuff.

After retreating to our corners to cool off, we are able to kiss and make up until the guest arrive.

That’s when my stress level increases. During the actual event, I manage to interact with the guests and make sure they are having a good time. However, my hospitality only lasts for a couple of hours. After that, I’m zapped.

I would much prefer to go to someone else’s house or to an agreed upon location. But I know how important it is for Kim to invite people to our home to socialize. Therefore, we’ve made the following compromises:

• We can have parties at our house once a quarter
• We must place time limits on parties. No all night gab sessions.
• The Electric Slide is not allowed in our house

- Fred

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