My Dinner Party with the Characters of Moonstruck

First off, I was careful not plan it on a full moon—too risky.

To set the mood, I have Italian Opera playing in the background, making sure to steer clear of La Boheme, lest the lovers become once again enraptured.

The table is set with no sharp objects, opting for plastic instead of glass and butter knives in lieu of anything sharper, in the likely event the table will be flipped over in a hormonal rage or for simply emphasizing a point.

I planned to have no bread on the table, as it a touchy subject. However, I don’t want to appear like a skimpy host, so I relented and put some out—pre-sliced.

I supply Nick Cage with an additional napkin for his chest hair.

The seating chart caused me many a sleepless night. Pop don’t like Johnny, Johnny don’t like Ronny, Grandpa is likely to bring his bundle of feral dogs—there is only so much bad blood you can smooth over with good bruschetta.

So. I know Pop would want to be at the head of the table, though it was my house. In efforts to avoid his piercing narrowing eyes behind those thick square frames, I obliged. (I also feel like he is the type of guy who carries spare copper piping with him everywhere in case the going gets rough. He’s an Italian plumber after all.)

I put Grandpa at the other end of the table, out of respect. I wanted to show him extra kindness because he himself has proclaimed, “I am old, and the old are not wanted.” Secretly he is my favorite, so I make the clever effort to contradict him. I went to FedEx and had a customized “WANTED” sign made with his face on it and a $1,000,000 price on his head. (You’re worth it Grandpa!) He actually nearly had a stroke when he saw it, perhaps rousing old memories, so I reluctantly took it down. Poor planning on my part, I will admit.

He fed the sign to the dogs.

Cher sat on one side, because she is enough woman for an entire side of a table. I crammed on the other side along with Rose Casterinni, who was sandwiched between Ronny and Johnny Camarerri. She acted as a powerful and calming presence between to the two feuding brothers. I felt confident she would keep the brawling to a minimum, as she is the caliber of woman who can shout, “i'll kick ya 'til your dead!” and mean it.

For the main course I obviously serve Chinese. There was no way I was going to try and compete with Casterinni cooking, a sure-fire way of making myself a sitting duck to the backhanded complements so scathing and subtle. I for one thought it tasted great. I think it was the Chinese flag that I stuck in the Lo Mein for flair that really set everyone off— I just felt credit should be given where credit is due, is all.

As the glances and hand gestures were exchanged, I began to wish I had served something simple, like Canadian food.

Grandpa’s eyes watered. “I’m confused,” he said.

I offer more Chianti. They are all takers.

The Lo Mein really was another bad call on my part. I press on.

A good host knows how to direct lively table conversation among her guests. I knew I had to tenderly navigate away from the subjects of (among others):

Marriage

Wolves

Slicers

Bus accidents

Tart’s named Mona

Bad Luck

City Hall

Death

Longevity of a certain mothers health
Cosmo's moon

Sicily

Pinkie Rings

The dinner went off rather well, all considered, despite the fact that one of Grandpa's dogs got ahold of Ronny's wooden hand and gnawed it to pieces. Regretfully, the whole disaster could have been averted if words, instead of hand gestures, were utilized.

Pop notices that some brownish greyish dog from the pack is chomping away on Ronny's hand, a rather ghastly sight. Pop makes forceful movements with his eyes and hands; he was obviously puzzled.

Ronny, unaware, “What's going on, Pop? I don't know what you're trying to tell me.”

Pop says, “I know you don't. That's the point. I'll say no more.”

“You haven't said anything!”

“And that's all I'm saying.”

By then the dog had all mauled all five digits.

Wood chips were everywhere, and they did a number on my vacuum cleaner, thank you very much.


 I tell everyone to save some room after their fortune cookies for a night cap. Nick and Cher seem to become loose cannons when whiskey is in the picture. 


Everyone's eyes roll as the table flips. I should have known.


Alla Famiglia!