Welcome back, darlings. This week we are dealing with wedding entitlement, houseguest delusion and the particular nerve required to order lobster on a shared check. Hydrate and keep your receipts.
Dear Sassy,
My college friend is getting married in Mexico. The wedding is three days long, the hotel is expensive and she has asked us to attend a welcome party, boat day, rehearsal dinner and farewell brunch. I can afford the wedding itself, but not the full production. Am I a terrible friend if I skip most of the extras?
– Beryl Aware
Beryl, darling, You are not a terrible friend. You are a guest with a checking account, which is apparently a rare species in destination-wedding planning. Your friend is allowed to dream of a glamorous three-day affair. She is not allowed to invoice everyone she has ever shared a dorm-room futon with for the privilege.
Go to the ceremony and reception if you want to be there. Choose one extra event that sounds genuinely fun. Then say, “I’m so excited to celebrate you. I can make the wedding and the welcome party, but I have to sit out the boat day and brunch.” No elaborate excuse, no spreadsheet, no apology written in blood.
If she reacts badly, that is useful information about the marriage, the friendship or at least the planning committee. A wedding invitation is not a summons from the Crown. Love does not require matching resort wear before 10 a.m., and anyone who says it does has spent too long near a monogrammed tote bag.
Sassy, I Need You,
My friend stayed with me for four nights while her apartment was being painted. She left damp towels on the bed, used my expensive face cream and ordered delivery twice without asking if I wanted anything. When she left, she said, “Thanks for letting me crash,” like my home was a spare charging cable. Can I tell her she was a bad guest?
– Holly Day-Inn
My dear Holly, Your friend did not crash at your home. She checked into a boutique hotel with a very accommodating owner and a facial-products minibar. Damp towels on the bed are the calling card of somebody who thinks “hospitality” means a household staff will appear after she departs.
You may tell her, but choose the goal. If you need an apology, say, “I was happy to help, but I felt taken for granted by the towels, the face cream and the lack of basic cleanup.” Then stop talking. Let the silence do some work. If she is a decent friend, she will be embarrassed and make it right.
If your real goal is to make sure she never repeats the performance, wait until the next request. “You’re welcome to stay, but I need you to treat my place like a home, not a hotel.” If that feels too direct, remember that she moisturized with your money. The directness has already entered the chat.
Hi Sassy,
At dinner, one friend ordered a cocktail, steak and dessert. The rest of us had salads and water because we were trying to keep it cheap. When the check came, he immediately said, “Let’s just split it evenly.” I froze, paid and complained later. How do I handle this next time without sounding like I brought a calculator to dinner?
– Penny Pincher
Penny, The person who suggests an even split after ordering the surf-and-turf trilogy knows exactly what he is doing. Do not let a fancy entrée convince you that basic arithmetic is gauche. The only thing tackier than asking for separate checks is silently subsidizing someone else’s tiramisu because you were afraid to sound practical.
Next time, set the tone early. When the server arrives, say, “Could we do separate checks?” or “I’m going to keep mine separate tonight.” Cheerful, brief, finished. You are not presenting evidence before Congress. You are paying for your own dinner.
If Captain Cabernet objects, smile and say, “I kept mine simple, so I’d rather pay for what I had.” Nobody reasonable will fight you. And if he does, he has announced that he considers your wallet part of the table setting. Order water, hold your ground and consider whether he needs fewer dinner invitations.
Have a social catastrophe, a romantic riddle or a question your friends are too polite to answer? Send it to asksassy@hesaiddallas.com. I’ll bring the judgment, the compassion and, when necessary, a velvet-gloved read. Discretion is assumed, darlings.
