PYJAMA PARTY
The trouble with us Capetonians is that we’re so immensely pleased with ourselves for living in one of the world’s top tourist destinations that some of us seem to think we’re rather above manners and common courtesy. We can be flaky, we have a flat-topped mountain. We can be late — have you seen Clifton 4th? In fact, we’re so fabulous we might not show up at all, and guess what — you’ll invite us again. And if we do deign to honour your invitation, there’s every chance we’re going to show up in tracksuit pants and Uggs because, hell, we have the winelands, and we’re too cool to care.
A few weeks ago I attended a dinner party at the home of a Swedish couple who have made Cape Town their home. Since I know hosting a dinner party in Scandinavia is quite a formal affair, and nothing like here (where if you arrive at the allotted time your host will be at the Spar buying rolls), I knew it was important to be punctual and to scrub up somewhat. Sure enough, when our hostess made her entrance with salon hair, spiky heels and an LBD, I was immensely relieved to have donned a black pant and used my ghd.
Not so the other guests. While our host was the epitome of charm and good manners, I cringed with embarrassment as guest after guest showed up looking like they’d fallen off the couch, grabbed their plakkies and gotten caught in a wind tunnel. When somebody has spent an entire day (or more) shopping and cooking, cleaned up, lit candles and made everything beautiful for you, her guest, the least you can freaking do is give yourself a spritz of Burberry and put on a nice shoe.
Worse still — the invitation was for 6:30pm. By 8pm one of the couples still hadn’t shown up or rung to say they were delayed, so we were shown our places and invited to start. At 8:30pm, while the main course was under way, the doorbell rang and these two graced us with their presence. Not an apology was uttered as the table had to be rearranged to accommodate them. Sis, guys. That is just not OK. It’s worse than bad manners — it’s sheer disrespect.
And the worst story of all is of a friend who was newly broken up and depressed over New Year’s Eve, so she decided to cheer herself up and remind herself that she still had people who loved her by hosting a dinner at her new house. She spent a fortune shopping, decked out the table and cooked all day for her 10 guests. You know how this is going to end, right? Not one person showed up. Not one. Just. Beyond. Hideous.
So, here’s the thing (and believe me, I’m also guilty of being indecisive and noncommittal, but I’m working on it): if you’re invited to something, don’t say “maybe” and then wait to see if a better thing comes up. Say “yes,” and then if JayZ and Beyoncé invite you to a shindig on their yacht, you will go to the Spur with your gran if you’ve already made that arrangement. Don’t accept someone’s invitation and then leave two hours later for another event. It’s such bad form. And if someone invites you to dinner at their home, for heaven’s sake, arrive on time and change out of your onesie. Bring flowers and show a bit of respect for the person who’s been missioning all day to feed your face. It’s really not asking a lot.