I need a weekend house or chocolate

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I have never been, shall we say, comfortable with entertaining. When it comes to the planning and preparation involved with inviting people over to dine, I would much rather go to a nice, relaxing dental appointment or something less taxing like that.
Sometimes, however, I find that my mouth gets ahead of my brain and commits me to things I have no business doing. Take, for example, Easter dinner. Had I committed to something less monumental like, say, catering a small wedding, there might be some sense to it.
No. Oh no. I commit to Easter dinner. I invite ALL my in-laws to boot. Fortunately, they’ve all known me for ages and, as such, have no business expecting much.
Granted, they know they can count on me to bring a certain level of class to the festivities. I always take the lid off the chip dip before bringing it to the table, after all.
Missing. Nonetheless, in a near panic now that I’ve realized (A) the house is a certified mess and (B) I don’t cook all that well, I have been skimming the pages of a number of style and entertainment magazines for guidance.
Unfortunately, all I’ve discovered is the one glaring omission in my party plans: a weekend house. If only we had a weekend house, I see now, I could keep it spotlessly clean and just breeze in on the eve of the dinner with a wicker basket of fresh vegetables and – voil

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Warm, witty and just a wee bit warped, Kymberly Foster Seabolt is a native of Kent, Ohio, who survived childhood exposure to disco and grew up to marry and move to the country. Her column weaves her special brand of humor with poignant, entertaining, and honest portrayals of parenting, marriage, and real life. She currently lives in northeastern Ohio with her husband, two children, two dogs, two cats, and numerous dust bunnies who wish to remain nameless.

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