I can't count

We had a dinner party on Saturday evening. Giving nice dinners is something we like to do, and generally it takes several days of preparation. So I was going to write a series of rather pretentious blog posts on planning and hosting a nice dinner party, from menu planning, shopping for ingredients, preparing the food, etc. I even took a few photos of the preparation process. The cooking started in earnest on Friday evening, and all day Saturday. By Saturday at 5pm, I had laid out a nice tablecloth on our dining table, and Seb had set the table for 8 people (the maximum possible, as we have only 8 chairs in the apartment).

Saturday evening just after 7pm, our guests start arriving. When about half our guests were assembled, is when the realization hits me. Holy crap, we are NINE. NINE people. Now, I'm rather prone to full-blown panic in these kinds of situations, but luckily Seb stepped in before the panic-meter got too high. "I'll just go borrow a chair from our neighbours," he said, cool as a cucumber (never mind that we barely know our neighbours). And thus, disaster was averted. Thankfully, the food worked out. The only number-specific food that we didn't have enough of was the baked potato (I had only made eight), but the table was so crowded that I don't think anyone noticed. In retrospect, I can't believe I could've mistaken the number of guests: I counted them last week, more than once. But I laugh at it now, and it's situations like this that remind me never to be so cocksure of myself.