On Juggling My Punch & Hors D’oeuvres

I attended a wedding reception and instead of juggling my pink punch and plate of hors d’oeuvres, which requires three hands, I settled on the sidelines.  I placed my punch on the floor beside my chair. My plate on my lap contained a potpourri of gourmet delicacies: a buttery crostino topped with creamy chicken liver pâté, a mini deviled crab cornbread muffin, a potato jalapeno Latke with shredded coconut, ‘nduja toasts with quick pickled celery, sprinkled with Parmigiano Reggiano, a sweet tart cranberry relish at the center of goat cheese garnished with oniony chives, and dollops of nutty tahini dip, and mint-garlic aioli.  

I sat enjoying this feast, when along came a stranger who proceeded to talk about himself for the next twenty minutes. My plate was nearing empty and he was nowhere close to arriving at the old narcissist joke: “That’s enough about me, what about you? What do you think of me?”  It has been said: The smallest package in the world is a person wrapped up in self. 

And please forgive me for sounding preachy, but the Bible says: Do not think of yourselves more highly than you should. This poor guy had no curiosity, and thought the only person worth talking about was himself. The next time I go to a wedding reception, rather than sit on the sidelines and risk being cornered by a narcissist, I think I’ll mingle, try to enjoy my hors d’oeuvres with only two hands and risk spilling my pink punch.