A Christmas confessional: Want to be the perfect host? Don’t be a Carrie

As you merrily ho ho ho through the next two weeks of holiday parties, particularly if you’re the one hosting them, I have one piece of advice for you: Don’t be a Carrie.

As in, um, me.

People who are better at being kind and gracious than I will tell you I’m a wonderful hostess.

This is simply not true.

Now, before we get to the embarrassing details, let me make one thing clear: This little confessional is going to leave some of you wondering if I’m criticizing my guests and fellow hosts. I certainly am not, regardless of what names you hear me call them.

I’m merely giving you a small window into how unorganized, unthinking and ungracious of a hostess I can be.

Since my husband, Joe, and I like to entertain frequently — something I rethink after every single party — an alarming number of Wichitans already have experienced my poor behavior in person.

Some of it I manage to keep to myself. But let’s just say if you’ve ever shown up early for one of my dinners, even by only a few minutes, know I am loudly cursing you from the kitchen where I’m still scurrying about as if I didn’t know this party was coming for the last two weeks.

There’s a chance the bathroom hasn’t gotten its final cleaning. The candles probably aren’t lit. And I’m just setting out the cocktail glasses.

Who are you people who show up early? Have you never thrown a party?

Same goes for you inconsiderate rubes who are on time. All the etiquette books say give the host an extra 10 minutes, but never more than 15. At that point, you become the bad guest.

Gosh, I sound a little harsh, don’t I? You oughta hear me when you’re out of earshot.

This is despite the fact that, truly, the guests have done nothing wrong. That’s even though I’m treating them as if they’ve committed a mortal, or at least venial, sin.

When you’ve invited people over, you ideally should be ready 30 minutes ahead of time, both for the sake of yourself and your guests. Use that time to sit in the clean wonder of your home, perhaps with a refreshing drink to help you be the most relaxed, I’ve-got-it-all-together host your guests have ever had the pleasure of visiting, including the ones who show up 30 minutes early. (Yes, this has happened to me, and, no, I wasn’t the least bit ready. And, no, I was not kind.)

Back when my dear mother was alive, she perpetually was ready at a moment’s notice to receive guests, invited or not.

She was showered, her home was immaculate and drinks and snacks were at the ready.

If you show up unannounced at my house, there’s a good chance I won’t be able to even open the door because I’ll be braless, unshowered or perhaps in a robe Big Lebowski style.

Sometimes, after a cocktail or two — maybe three — the truth of how I feel about my guests and their, admittedly, innocent behavior inadvertently comes out. Like just this past Saturday night. Sure, I toasted my guests and our long friendships, but then I declared the one who was early didn’t get any dessert. Nor would four other exactly-on-time guests be getting any cake even though they were the ones who brought it.

To be honest, I think the Grinch probably manages more gracefulness than I do. I can’t imagine why these people keep coming back.

The next day, the one in charge of the cake but didn’t get to eat it shared more than 50 beautiful photos of the party to our private Facebook group. Her photographic skills made my house look like a winter wonderland. I didn’t deserve it.

My sweet friend who showed up early posted about the party: “It was like a mini vaycay!” I don’t deserve her.

I also may have chided them all for opening the door to my guest bedroom to throw their coats on the bed after I’d cleaned out the coat closet for them (and already thrown all of my coats on the bed). They didn’t know it was The Nightmare Before Christmas staging room.

Sometimes, I try to make myself feel better about my behavior by remembering that even Queen of Entertaining Sally Quinn, a Washington Post journalist who was married to late editor Ben Bradlee, made mistakes, too.

In her 1997 book “The Party: A Guide to Adventurous Entertaining,” she detailed how she was fairly rude all night to one man who showed up at one of her parties when he wasn’t invited. She later learned that there had been a mix-up and he had been invited.

Now, in that regard, I’m actually a fairly generous hostess — the one area in which I’ll give myself credit. I’m always willing to play hostess and take on more guests. Have a party that needs throwing? Just call me.

A few weeks after our 2005 wedding, I met someone who said she’d really enjoyed my reception.

Given that we were just meeting, I was a bit perplexed. She explained that some friends of ours had invited her and her husband along. I just laughed.

As easygoing as I was in that moment, I must confess I’m still fairly ticked at the people who didn’t bother to RSVP to our wedding. That, of course, brings me around to all the times I haven’t responded to an invitation. Ridiculous. I don’t deserve to be invited to anything ever again.

I wish easygoing Carrie would show up more, both as a hostess and a guest. I can’t decide which I’m worse at.

For instance, when I go to homes of friends, I need to stop telling them what temperature to keep their houses at or how dim their lighting should be.

When my one ally in that department, my good friend and colleague Denise — who likes it as cold and dark as I do — refused to dim her kitchen lights to my desired level during a party we recently threw together, I felt truly betrayed. I turned to her to jokingly declare I’d never throw another party with her, but I fear it came out more like a sneer and a threat.

Really, why would she want to throw one with me again anyway? At this point, how do I have any friends left?

I could go on — and on — but you’re probably thinking poorly enough of me already.

As I resolve to be better in 2026, or at least attempt it, I’ll sum up what I consider to be two of the best hostessing etiquette guidelines.

I’ll go back to two pieces of fabulous advice that I received before my wedding and continue to tell all brides and grooms to be, although in slightly kinder terms than I’m about to put it.

First, all those little details that are causing you to be an overwrought, uptight nightmare of a dining diva, no one is going to remember them anyway. They will, though, remember how you made them feel. So chill out (preaching to myself here) and learn to laugh at yourself and your house and everything that goes wrong along the way.

Once, I threw a roast for The Eagle’s Bonnie Bing at which I had to get up and apologize to more than 400 people who had to wait a lonnnnng time to get their food due to the caterer. I was mortified, but then everyone went on to have a fun, memorable evening. As our publisher at the time told me, “No one remembers what happens in the first inning as long as you win the game.”

(This is also the party where I learned the phrase, “It is what it is.” There’s actually some comfort in that. Your guests are showing up while you’re still setting the table? It is what it is. Move on with your life.)

Finally, the last piece of advice. On the occasion of her wedding, a wise woman once said, “As long as I marry that man and have a cocktail, it’s all going to be all right.”

So, to all you hosts and hostesses, these are your friends, old and new. If they’re going to judge you on something like whether or not your floors are clean, do you really need them in your life anyway?

As long as you’re merry and have a cocktail, it’s all going to be all right.

This story was originally published December 23, 2025 at 4:06 AM.