MATCHMAKERS

You'd never think about a little ornery critter like this as being anything of a matchmaker, but he, or a big ole crowd of his family, certainly gave it their all one time, and made an ordinary evening into one of the best parties I ever gave.

Years ago, before Chris and I met, I used to go places with several of my girlfriends, all of us unattached, and we’d have some wonderful times, from just going out to dinner to going to Memphis to the Opera or Symphony or to hear a band we liked, or to Jackson for the weekend.

One of our ladies was not quite as independent as the rest of us, and was most eager to find a guy and get married, and based all her “outings on scoutings” as we teased her. She just REALLY wanted to be married, and in an increasingly desperate way---you know, when a woman says, “I love Joe with all my heart and really want to marry him,” she’s on the right track, especially if Ole Joe loves her right back. But when your friend constantly says, “If I could just get married, everything would be all right,” then, there’s a lot of leeway for pro and con---mainly CON.

Anyway, on the evening in question, I’d invited a nice crowd over for dinner, including one really nice guy who lived a few miles from us, and who was just the kindest, sweet man, with his own farm and a few nice crawfish ponds, from which he sold to restaurants and locals.

We’d decided, my friends and I, to make it a lovely evening, with “dress for dinner” on the invitations---our “dress” being everything from A DRESS to nice pants to that sequined thing you bought for Mary Alice's Las Vegas elopement last year.

I cooked a lovely meal for about fifteen or so, and set up the tables in the big den, all with nice china and silver---one of those two-glasses-to-the-setting arrangements; not too formal, but swinging pretty high for one of our usual gatherings. I remember I wore a beautiful silky caftan (it was that era)---all drifty golds and taupes and tans, and the house looked lovely with the flowers and candles.

Everything was all arranged, with the coffee service set up on the buffet, and all the food in readiness, all the guys in nice slacks and jackets, all the ladies primped and pretty. My friend was a little bit nervous of the meeting, though she was surrounded by all of us friends, and kept looking out the door and windows as the time ticked on.

The last to arrive was our friend Joe himself, right on time, and as I was busy in the kitchen at that moment, I didn’t see him get out of the truck. I heard someone say, “What’s he carrying?” about the time that he came in the door with a heavy-hanging garbage bag in each hand. He gave them one big swing each, and plopped them right up on the big bare kitchen bar, as the delicious aromas lifted out into the room.

“Just a little something to nibble on,” he grinned, as we put down more bags and newspapers all along the bar and gathered around, and this is what it looked like as he upended those two big sacks of crawfish, still steamy and warm, and fragrant with Cajun spices:

 

And not one person stood back---I headed for the fridge to get cocktail sauce, ketchup, lemons and several kinds of hot sauce, as well as little paper plates for everybody to mix their dip to their own liking. We all shoved up our sleeves, grabbed lots of paper towels, fixed more cold drinks, and dug in.

I must say, even when we’d all washed in lemony suds and sat down to the REAL dinner, we were still drifting along on the rolling tide of all that unexpected gusto and feasting---that was one of the most fun parties I ever gave.

They didn’t ever get together, but we all sure enjoyed that attempt at matchmaking. 'Cept maybe those twenty pounds of mudbugs.