Let's see what happens, shall we?

Ding.Dong.--that was the doorbell.  It's twenty minutes to one, which means that must be our guests...fifteen years ago it would never occur to me that my guests would be arriving 20 minutes before the time they were invited...twenty minutes early---that's like, "oh, crap, we are still vacuuming" time.  But today it doesn't faze me.  Community life has done this to me.  I've learned to cope with a world where on-time = late.

Not to like it, really, but to cope.  Well, sort-of.  In anticipation of the need to be "previous" as the sisters like to say, I decided to prepare the frittata last night.  Smarty-pants here figured if I make it the day before it will be ready early-on-time.  Note to self: don't put your food in the oven and then get on the phone with a childhood friend you haven't talked to in 15 years...

...at about 8:15 pm a hazy, delicious, scary smell came wafting through my bedroom door.  I jumped up, ran down the stairs and through the house--haze getting thicker--and yanked open the oven door all while trying to maintain a calm, normal phone voice.  Relief.  Not burned.  Yes!  "Hold on a sec.,"  I casually tell my friend.  I put my hand over the phone and whimsically tell the other sisters cooking in the kitchen, "just leave that there to let it cool, ok?"  And back upstairs I go.

Fast-forward to this morning---about 8:15 (what is it with 8:15?).  Crap.  Message to mom: ummm, is it safe to serve an egg dish that has been sitting out overnight?  No response.  Crap.
Me to sister:  I'm not sure I'm going to serve the frittata.
Sister to me:  Oh, don't worry about it---my cranberry sauce didn't come out right, but it will be ok, just serve it.
Me to self: ummmmmmmmmmmm.

So, yeah, let's just see what happens, shall we?
Gotta go.  My guests are here.