Dinner Party + Kindergartener + Interesting Table Settings= Hilarity

This one was relayed to me by email.

When I was five years old, I learned to read, and there was no stopping me. I was a bookworm from day one, and delighted in exercising my new talent by reading everything in sight, from cereal boxes to the labels on bottles of dish soap. One day, I opened a drawer in the restroom and read aloud, "Napkins." I asked my mother why she was keeping napkins in the restroom. Didn't they belong in the kitchen? Not wanting to burden me with unnecessary explanations, she merely said, "I use them only once a month."

Now, it's important to note that, aside from her children, my mother's greatest joy was the local social scene. She belonged to several clubs: The Rotary Club, a book club, a ladies' tennis club, and a group of "ladies who lunch," among others. Every time it was Mom's turn to host one of her clubs' meetings, she hosted a dinner party and spent at least a week fussing over menus, making table decorations, and cleaning the house from top to bottom. Around the same time that I began reading, my mother took it upon herself to pass this art down to me.

I was given a number of small jobs to do in preparation for the meeting of the book club. I felt very proud to be allowed to help plan the dinner, especially because our pastor and his wife had recently joined my mother's book club. At that age, I saw the pastor as a celebrity of sorts, and I held his wife in the highest regard.

When the day of the much-anticipated party finally came, I was dressed in my Sunday best, every hair in place, and I had one last job to do. While my mother labored in the kitchen preparing an elaborate meal, I was to set the table. I had rehearsed this routine several times under my mother's watchful eye, and I knew it back to front. I knew just which fork was for which course, where to place each wine glass, and why each guest needed both a small and a large plate.

When the guests began to appear, my mother directed me to show them into the sitting room to chat until everyone arrived. She remained in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on her cupcakes. A few minutes later, when all the guests were present, my mother rushed over and directed them toward the dining room. The pastor entered first, followed by his wife.

Immediately, the pastor burst into gales of laughter. His wife gasped, then began giggling. The other guests were close on their heels, and soon the dining room was filled with guffaws. Finally, my mother came in behind her guests, and nearly died of embarrassment as soon as she saw just how carefully I had set the table.

At each guest's place was a single special napkin from my mother's bathroom drawer, carefully tucked under the edge of each plate, with the salad, dinner, and dessert forks arranged atop the napkins. I had even tucked their little tails under, so the "napkins" wouldn't hang off the edge of the table.

My mother, blushing furiously, took me by the hand and pulled me back into the sitting room. She asked in hushed tones, "Why, dear, did you put those napkins on the dinner table?"

I answered, proudly, in a voice that surely carried to the dining room, "I remembered, Mama, when you told me that you use those once a month. That's when the book club meets!"