Michael, my younger but infinitely wiser brother, often discusses with me the need to grow up and start being myself. I don’t take this advice lightly. He’s right. Aside from being right, however, he also likes to lead by example. Our dear friends Alice and Matt were hosting a party this past weekend. After a prior invitation gone awry or, “the debacle” (Michael received his invite through a third party, me, so as to invalidate said invite), Michael was given a direct and emailed invite. This invite included a place to respond, inform the hosts whether you were bringing guests, when you might want to show up, etc. Over the course of three weeks I was asked not once, twice or three times, but 13 times whether or not his girlfriend could attend. Yes, reply with a +one. In fact, I’ll text Alice. Look at that, such dear friends we have their phone numbers. We don’t just have them, we text frequently with them. Confirmed. Come, bring your girlfriend, kegs and wine and merriment for all!

Fast forward to the day prior to the event. “Listen, I replied ‘maybe’. I’m coming. I’m bringing my girlfriend. I texted Matt, it’s been 3 minutes. I haven’t heard anything. You must call Alice. You need to confirm I can still come, with girlfriend, because I only replied ‘maybe’”. Now when I call them our “dear friends” I do not mean in some distant way that we have memories past but don’t socialize too often these days as to create some sense of self-doubt or restraint. It’s the type of closeness I imagine Ina has with her sassiest of gay friends from the Hamptons where a simple “Gary, I’m using good ingredients, bring wine” sends Gary on the swiftest of missions to pick the sassiest of wines to pair with a yet unknown meal of food Ina is surely making. No questions, no hesitation, just shit tons of classy wine, because you better bet there will be a lot of wine to be had later and Gary is definitely passing out on Ina’s basement floor mid “Pillow Talk” (a rising tale of the old party line system in New York where Doris Day is a delight and Rock Hudson is as captivating as ever and my the antics they get into…but I digress), only to have Jeffrey arrive some time later and give him a blanket, turn off the tv and the lights, and start prepping the scones Ina had made earlier for breakfast. Actually, this is not too dissimilar to a night Michael had at Matt’s. Where Pillow Talk was replaced by Sunday Night Football, wine with Loose Cannon and “good ingredients” with delivery pizza. So yes, Michael, it would be the highest disregard to their hospitality to show up, with girlfriend, after you so selfishly blew them off with a “maybe”. I had better call Alice most promptly and confirm that you are still allowed on their premises. A call was made without haste to Alice, to which she replied “I’m sorry, what? Do I need to call Michael? I will have Matt text him. Better yet, shall I send word by way of my carrier pigeon?”

As Alice and I laughed over said ridiculousness, I continued to receive multiple texts. From Michael. About attendance. Luckily, Matt texted Michael, Alice confirmed, and Michael was able to arrive without scorn or embarrassment, with girlfriend, for party.

And in case you were curious – the party was a sheer delight. Everyone drank too much, ate too much and overall enjoyed themselves too much. Alice prepared the most amazing Ina-inspired pulled pork and an onion dip. I ate most of the onion dip. I followed it with a bottle and a half of Pinot Noir. The fancy kind.

So as I continue through life, learning how to be myself; each day striving to become self-aware and self-possessed, I think fondly of my brother, Michael, whose sage words started me on this path, and his ever-shining example of comfort, friendship, and most importantly, how much more grown up he is.  This is a man that does not let anything get him down. And like him, I must carry on. I’ll start by having some wine later tonight.