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After Holiday Feast
It was the night before Christmas, and I felt like a souse
From cocktail parties I attend, house to house.
The champagne was flowing- Krug, Tattinger,
In the morning I’d feel it I’d pay – de rigueur.
The punch bowl, set on the buffet, was large,
So large in fact, it could float a great barge.
The hors d’oeuvres were plentiful and set out with care,
You could tell from the garnishes, Martha Stewart had been there.
As we sampled the pate, there rose such a clatter,
It seemed one of the help had just dumped a platter.
But the hostess was braced, from her not a peep
After all it was a rental, and the glassware was cheap.
With manner adroit, sang froid smile slipping only a smidge,
She simply pilled another platter out of the fridge.
Resuming my ‘dishing of guest and food,
I found myself feeling in gay, festive mood.
I returned to the buffet to sample some more,
Of the hot curry sambal, and canapés galore.
Puff pastry and phyllo encased tasty things
Like sundried tomatoes, spiced pork, chicken wings.
A vegan’s delight was proffered, with such dishes
That went beyond loaves and mock tofu fishes.
It would not be replete without mention of sweet
Of chocolate confections and marzipan treats.
In the centre there rose a great croquembouche
Made with custard filled cream puffs…
which will augment your tush.
There was chocolate, and chocolate and more chocolate,
I swear
I could not find Jell-O in that house, anywhere.
Its guises were many, from tortes to ganache
All were displayed with flair and panache.
The party wound down at half past eleven
Coffee was served, the aroma was heaven.
The hostess was down to her last toothy smile
It struck me how much it resembled white bathroom tile.
My glass was empty, there was no more food.
To enquire about more might seem a bit rude.
I surveyed the scene and found it quite daunting.
Only diehards were left the conversation- found wanting.
I found my chapeau and without further delay
Bade “Merry Christmas to all” and went on my way.
When I got home, and tucked into bed
Visions of sugarplums danced in my head.
Of course it was disco, a hyper club beat
So take my advice, after you eat.
Don’t lie recumbent, trying to sleep
Or, into your slumber, digesting nightmares will creep,
Of parties from Hell, where they serve cheese-whiz and drink beer
So, sleep sitting up, and have a happy New Year.