act of contrition

I am sorry I showed up almost two hours late.

I am sorry I fell asleep on the couch immediately after your multi-course dinner -- which you prepared, may I add, after a long day at work.

I am sorry you were forced to wake me up because if you hadn't done so, I would've never left your house, and you would've found me on the couch this morning, curled up around the big white pillow and wearing my tan peacoat like a blanket.

I am sorry I am the worst dinner guest ever.

Thank you for the stuffed mushrooms, which are your family's holiday recipe. Thank you for the amazing artichoke and spinach salad with homemade dressing, served in turquoise bowls and eaten with chopsticks. Thank you for the asparagus, which was perfect -- neither soggy nor too crisp. Thank you for the whole wheat pasta topped with sauteed vegetables, toasted pine nuts and chopped olives. Thank you for the chocolate-dipped strawberries and bananas, which when eaten with a glass of late harvest Zinfandel, sent me spiralling into the most blissful of food comas.

Raid my fridge any time. Drink my wine, eat my chips, take the last piece of dark chocolate. (I only wish I had Girl Scout cookies to offer, but it's not that time of year.) Crash on the futon. Sleep all night.

And I'll take you out for brunch in the morning.