So, after the final kaddish, I left. I did fend off the occasional thank you - we'd sponsored an earlier kiddush of cakes and chips and such in honor of my father's yarzheit (this would be number seven) and people though the big one was ours. I got home; I made the kitchen fleishig and made a salad and set the table and every so often went downstairs to see if three ladies were on their way. Jonathan stayed for a couple of bites and for the afternoon service right after lunch. He got home about a quarter to three. No ladies.
We waited until about 3:15 and then we made motze and had salad and then, no sooner had I dished out the main course when we heard our guests.
And they saw our main course, which is basically chicken and rice. And they're allergic to rice. Do I have anything else? Nope. Fish? Tuna fish. I could make some. Nope. They'd just have salad and bread. Honeycake? Allergic to honey.
Note: not allergic. None of these. The foods just gave them gas. This includes whole wheat. Fortunately, the round challah I'd gotten just for them was white, because I much prefer whole wheat.
They kept saying how healthy it looked, how delicious it smelled, but nope, not eating it. We finished our meals, they left for the food they had at home (they just wanted to get out of the house. Which - um. Shul? Okay, shul on Simchat Torah is extremely boring for women in our community - I take a book - but it's a chance to be out and talk to people at least.) They did finish the salad, though.
Jonathan thought of them like Kristen Wigge on SNL - sort of whiney types. They didn't play with their hair, but that's about the difference. When they left, he was relieved. Poor things. They weren't that bad, really, but if she'd said right off she was allergic to as common a dish as rice, I could have made something different.
As it is - it's dinner tonight and then it gets frozen - it freezes beautifully - and we have one more dinner in the freezer.