The Kiss Hello

It's no secret that I hate potlucks, the way they are forced upon you at the office by the suburban ladies who like to wear thick-gauge, holiday sweaters. It's no secret that I hate people who throw parties at their house but oh, by the way, everyone's bringing a dish, can you bring the salad? Why throw a party if you can't afford to host? Invite fewer people. And if you're simply too cheap to host, well then I don't want to be your friend anyway.

Allow me to give some context. When Jeff and I moved into this brand-new compound, we were one of two families occupying the premises for many months. Our neighbors were a lovely, childless, British couple and we often went to their house for dinner and parties because they loved to entertain. I went away with Elena in August, returned to Bahrain in October, and by then all 40 units were rented out and I came back to a barrage of new neighbors, all with multiple, mostly school-aged children. I simply could not keep track of these greasy, snot-nosed kids because there were so many of them and they all looked alike since each had at least two or three siblings. Let me note that 90% of these families are either Brits or Kiwis, and I'm not noting this because I'm prejudiced but because it will explain a little bit about why I don't have anything in common with them, why I find it hard to understand their English, and why these white faces initially thought I was the maid pushing Elena around in her stroller and wouldn't respond to my hellos. (Because they use Asian maids.)

Anyway, we live on a narrow street and it is now overflowing with screaming children. They play outside all day without supervision, do not get out of the way when a car approaches, they kick plastic 5-gallon buckets down the brick road, they bully my 6-year-old Hungarian neighbor girl about her English (I politely confronted the bullies to have them stop, but really just wanted to smash the ringleader's face in), but most irritatingly, they leave their bicycles in front of my garage and my front door. Oh, they're not singling me out-- there are at least 30 different bicycles in this compound and they drop them wherever they happen to be. So many times I have the urge to drive right over the bikes, but of course I don't. I get out of my car and pick up the bike and move it off to the side. And it just keeps happening, because I have no idea whose bikes these belong to and really have better things to do than to wait at my window to witness the live bike-dropping.

Well these neighbors all get on famously now, are chums, really, and there is a neighborhood get-together each Friday (the Middle East's Sunday) afternoon where everyone brings a dish. I've never attended. And just like Jerry Seinfeld when he objected to kissing hello to each of his lady neighbors, I have become a pariah.

What was my point? Oh yeah, tomorrow this German family is having a party to celebrate the birth of their 3rd child. Fliers were handed out. Everyone's excited. They ask me, are you going? I make up excuses, backed into the corner. The problem with making up excuses to your neighbors is that they can all see your car in the garage and the lights on in your house. You can't exactly lie.

Want to know what we, the guests, are being asked to do?

• Bring a gift for either the baby or the mom- gee thanks for letting me choose
• Bring a dish to share with everyone- it has to be Italian because it's an Italian-theme party
• Bring something to drink
• Bring your own glass in which to drink the drink that you brought
• Contribute 1BD ($2.65) toward the cake
• We have to call this other neighbor to tell her what dish we are bringing so there are no "duplicates"

In other words, it BYOE- bring your own everything. Boy will they be embarrassed for forgetting to ask us to bring our own folding chair and tv tray. And people are excited about going! It's like I'm the only one who finds this offensive! And by the way, this family's 12 year-old daughter is the bully who was making fun of the 6-year old Hungarian girl.