Hostress.

Last night was an interim party for a large case that I've been working on since February. Probably because I was the only one who cared enough, I planned the party (even though I was the third choice to do so). The party was at my favorite bar near work, Theory. We bought the place out for three hours, with an open bar and a great selection of delicious snacks. Objectively, I knew that no one would have any complaints. Why would they? Free food and drinks not two blocks from the office. Only the laziest ingrate would complain about that.

I know I'm not alone in this, but I suffer from hostress, or host anxiety. A few weeks ago, my friends and I hosted a luau. And, not just any luau. We went whole hog. Literally. It was catered to include the pig-on-a-spit ("Wilbur"), there was a bartender serving our signature drink in actual coconut cups with an umbrella, our friend did a surprise fire-spinning performance, and we had hawaiian dancers who taught our guests to hula. The rationale part of my mind knew that people could not not-like it. Nonetheless, in the hours before (note: you don't need to gather particularly early when the party is catered because there is nothing for you to do but sit, worry, and drink) my hostress set in.Thankfully, the sure cure for hostress is alcohol --unsurprisingly, my weapon of choice is prosecco. And, a good time was had by all. Mind you, I know for a fact that some of my guests (at both parties) don't remember all of the good times they had, but they are sure they had a good time.

Cheers!