When I turn down a deifheid invitation and the cellmate goes on her own, I sometimes get a nagging suspicion that I may be missing out on something wonderful. Maybe a world class jazz muso would have been at the dinner.
Turns out that the dinner was everything I thought it would be, and more. Even the cellmate, the most optimistic and charitable person I know, came home indignant. Apparently there were two alpha deifheids present, and the competitive self-aggrandizing filled the stage.
Kindly, the sweetie deifheidette sent me a piece of her home-made pecan-pear-chocolate cake, so I was still able to savour the only positive part of the affair. Good call, Albert!