My table, to be exact.
Once in a while I invite friends over either to a dinner I've cooked or for a pot-luck affair.
Most of them are glad to partake of the food and the gossip that inevitably accompanies a full stomach and lots of alcohol, (or as Stephie says it, ack-ee-howl) but occasionally some feller comes along (in my life) thinking they are God's gift to me and have entirely no regard for friendships and the necessary effort needed to maintain one.
Some even go so far as to assume that I owe them a living and more. I mean, how hard can it be to send me an SMS when I need to be informed of something? It's not like I'm one of those people who don't read text messages or reply almost immediately. Being taken for granted isn't something I take lightly. I can be patient to an extent, and as far as my friends are concerned, I've been too patient this time around, but enough is enough.
And so, at the last soiree around my table, I declared that a certain someone would be culled. Permanently. And those of you in the know will understand that it is not merely a declaration of who gets to eat with me, but a statement that carries a deeper implication.
