The invitations were sent. Email, text, phone calls, even two handwritten notes to luddites who were still friends.
Responses slowly trickled back.
Can’t wait. Maybe next time. What can I bring?
If I feel better, I will be there.
Finally the day arrived. Preparations began early.
The ham was put into the oven. Potato salad, macaroni salad, and olive and cheese plate, thin slices of capicola and gruyere on thin crusts of bruschetta
People started to arrive. Wine was poured. Plates were set out.
Conversation remained light.
The one who felt better, was not quite. Not dastardly sick, but with an occasional cough, and a sneeze – half of which was caught in a Kleenex.
The few germs that escaped found refuge on the ham, the potato salad. On the bruschetta.
On the silverware and plates festively decorating the table.
The party was a success. Days later, people recalled the party, as the germs rallied in the systems of their new host.
The germs: Cheering that the dance will continue.