good friends overstay
/“Always leave them wanting more,” is a quote commonly attributed to the great circus showman P. T. Barnum.
The trapeze artists may be swinging, the clowns may be juggling, the acrobats may be tumbling -- but now it’s time to let the bug-eyed audience go home, dreaming of the next time they’ll see people literally jump through hoops.
Others say it was the musician Bobby Womack who said it or maybe Walt Disney -– all top entertainers.
Others have put their own spin on the idea with “Don’t overstay your welcome,” or as Ben Franklin said, “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.”
We get the idea. Since we were kids, we’ve learned it’s good to know when to leave, so people will invite you again and not be afraid you’ll arrive with trunks and furniture.
I’d like to put my own spin on the concept and repeat a line from the childhood author Louisa May Alcott: “Stay is a charming word in a friend’s vocabulary.”
Or maybe I’m just trying to cover my tracks.
Because recently, I overstayed. I went to a friend’s house, planning a quick hello, and didn’t leave. They had other guests, so they were quite busy. They didn’t need us there, Ray and me. But we, apparently, needed them. After a long drive to pick up something at their home, and after sensing a fun atmosphere there, we stayed. Too long. Next thing you knew we were joining them for dinner.
How do you know when you overstay? One hint is that people stop feeding you. Whatever is on the table is gone -- no more chips or grapes or cheese to take their place. Not even hot water for tea.
In this case, the fun group was making dinner. We were not invited. But there we were. The host indicated perhaps some faraway place like Tonga needed us, but the hostess began setting new plates at the table, squeezing us in. We became confused.
Me: Do we run, or do we sit?
Ray: We should go.
Me: OK, you first.
Ray: You first.
We wanted to sit, that was the problem. Otherwise, that old advice would have kicked in. We would have left through giant hoops of fire.
Ta-dah!
But we didn’t. Where were our manners?
As we perched delicately between their twirling and juggling, the balancing and clowning -- trying to find our exit but not wanting to -- I remembered other friends and family that did not leave our house either.
They stayed and stayed under our Big Top, admitting they were overstaying, but not finding the get-up-and-go to leave. They were sunk into our deep couches, pillows askew on the ground, socks off, drinking more wine, telling another story, laughing as we were nodding off.
In the moment, I wished they would leave. Sometimes I picked up the food -- no more cookies for you! -- but still they stayed. I cleared off cups. Crumpled napkins in the trash. Talked of an early morning the next day. They stayed.
And as time has gone on -- unexpectedly -- these have become fond memories: People having such a good time at our house that they stayed.
As I leaned on the door jamb on this new occasion -- are we leaving, are we staying? -- I thought of my own overstayers and how comfortable they looked. And how special that was.
Despite the proper manners they knew they should follow -- ignore the sword swallowers, forget the tightrope walkers -- they felt too entertained, too cozy, to go.
And when all was said and done, in retrospect, that made us feel pretty darn good.
I knew these current friends would forgive us -- because they are friends -- but we sincerely apologized and said, “Sorry we were having too much fun.”
How lucky we hadn’t asked them to set up a guest room!
I have an inkling though, as time goes on, as they review that night in their memory banks, they’ll recall it as a time when we made them feel loved, wanted, appreciated -- their brand of circus worked!
Isn’t that what good friends are for.