We had an early Christmas dinner for an old friend (Bette) and her family, who we used to always gather with on Thanksgiving. She retired to Arizona four years ago so when she manages a trip back to Fort Worth she stays for a couple of weeks and visits everyone. I had two days notice that the party was at my house this year, on Saturday night. This is a group of people who at one time were mostly members of two families. Several of us have divorced, but the exes still turn up for the holiday dinners (and one very good surprise birthday party last summer). This group is multilingual, well-traveled, highly educated, and can be very silly and wherever we gather is a great place to bring the occasional individual who didn't have family to spend the holiday with. This year I had two of those somebodies, a writer and her son, who had moved here last winter after two deaths in the family. Moving into one of the family homes was a desirable choice, but they don't know many people yet. I learned (via her blog) that my friend brought her knitting for "just in case" she ended up having to entertain herself in a corner while the party happened. Not so! She's a good cook and was an able hand in the kitchen as I produced a roast turkey and dinner rolls while the others brought the fixings.
Anyway, it was very clear and cold on Saturday. The writer arrived first and I heard her drive up so met her at the side door, which is covered by a decorative steel security door (there's one in front also). We're in the kitchen talking and all of a sudden we heard a strange loud tap on the kitchen window. My ex had been at the side door with a pie in each hand and no one answered the doorbell he had elbowed. He put one pie down and waded through a hedge and banged the kitchen window with his car keys. He came in complained about the doorbell not working. A while later there was a strange hollow banging at the side door and we let guest of honor Bette in. She started talking and catching up, and I assuming she'd driven herself and parked out front, I took her coat and we headed for the kitchen. Only to realize after a few minutes that she forgot to tell us that there were several others freezing on the front porch where that doorbell wasn't working either. All of a sudden she did an "ohmygosh" and we charged to the front, but there was no one there, so we raced to the side door to find a large group of frozen people waiting to get in. Their breaths were all white in the porch light and they looked like popsicles. My daughter drove in later and couldn't get in, so called her father on his cell phone to let her in because she didn't have her keys. The doorbell only worked for one guy the whole night. Geez! I've been out on the porch today trying to get these bells in order. I think the painters a couple of weeks ago may have contributed to this problem--there are three bells at two different doors and at least one was painted to a standstill.
Not as side-splitting as Bobert's story, perhaps, but when I finally fell into bed on Saturday night I found myself chuckling about that doorbell problem as I fell asleep.