Be Our Guest

“Your room is waiting,” my wife cheerfully tells friends and relatives in far-flung corners of the country. It’s part of her ongoing “Southern Hospitality” campaign to tempt someone into a trip to Fort Lauderdale so she can coax them into spending a few nights in our seldom used guest bedroom.

“We never have house guests,” she says disappointedly. “And we live in a vacation paradise.”

 “House guests,” I hasten to remind her, “are like fish. After three days they start to stink, and after a week they stink in a way that makes fleeing in the night seem like a reasonable option.”

Still, living in a bona fide “vacation paradise,” we find ourselves making the obligatory open invitation to whoever’s on the other end of the phone. The wholeheartedness of the offer differs slightly, depending on whether it’s being issued by me or my wife.

Sherry: “Come on down. You’ll have your own bedroom and bathroom, a key to the house, and you’re a mile and a half from the beach.”

Me: “It’s hot as hell here but you’re welcome to come. The foldout’s not too painful, the bathroom has a door on it, and you can help yourself to what’s in the fridge -- barbecue sauce and seltzer.”

 It’s a natural fact that, by their very presence, even the best house guests disrupt the normal ebb and flow of their hosts’ daily lives. Prolonged visits can set free powerful feelings, including anguish, grief, loathing, rage, and finally, intense longing that the ordeal will eventually end.

To ensure that everyone maintains a protective layer of comfort and no one gets hurt, I find it’s a good idea to set down a few house rules before guests arrive. Mine are as follows:

 1)    No asking “if you’ve been having trouble with that toilet in there.” I haven’t. You’re on your own.

2)    No suggesting “we all go to that big flea market we heard about.” I’ve been and lived to tell about it. Now it’s your turn.

3)    No offering to “treat” if we go to some tacky tourist attraction with you. It won’t work. Just go, and leave the money on the dresser.

4)    No talking during any television show I’ve described as “one of the few things I look forward to watching every week.” In other words, “at the sound of a commercial, please give me your name and a brief message.”

5)    No walking around in your underwear before midnight.

6)    No walking around in your underwear after midnight.

7)    No walking around in my underwear at any time.

Make no mistake. We welcome guests at our home . . . we really do. I just know from experience that unless precautions are taken, there comes a breaking point that shatters the fragile harmony of a habitat holding too much humanity.

In retrospect, our guests should have seen it coming. My flushed face, my trembling lip, the festering hostility of a thousand frustrations coming to a head.  Maybe next time they’ll think twice about asking me where the fire extinguisher is while I’m watching Amish Mafia.