From today’s Bleat:

Perhaps it’s a gender issue. Maybe it’s a personality quirk distributed randomly across the sexes, age groups, intelligence capability, place of birth. Maybe it’s just one of those things. All I know is that some people regard standing at the door for 17 minutes an essential component of the goodbye process, and that I am not one of them. If I’m at the door, I want one of two things to happen: you go or I go. If I’m the guest, I’m off. If you’re the guest, rest assured I did not bring you to the threshold to start an entirely new conversation.

It’s not a big thing, and it’s actually a source of amusement around here. My wife knows I’m not a doorway-lingerer like she is, and it does make for some awkward moments. Someone stands and puts on their coat, and I believe that the evening has come to a conclusion. I head for the door. Then an entirely new conversation front opens up, and all movement towards the door stops. What do I do? I’ve now passed the guest and am en route to the door; if I keep moving towards the door, it’ll seem like I want him out, but if I stop and go back, we’ll all stand here for six minutes. And those six minutes will not be subtracted from the 8 minutes we will spend at the door, where we will talk about people I saw six years ago in a Christmas photo card set in front of a fireplace.

I would rather spend an additional half an hour seated at the table, enjoying a beverage, letting the conversation unspool at a civilized pace. Then there’s a lull; people stare into their empty glasses, then pat the table with open palms and put a period to our merry night. We rise and part, warmly. Briskly. Good to see you; off you go.

Or we all move towards the door at a pace that suggests everyone has their leg in an alligator’s mouth, up to the thigh. Am I wrong? Probably. All I know is that we were standing at the front door forever, and Gnat was being an imp, and Jasper was whining for his walk, and every fiber of my being cried out for finality. Eventually goodbyes were tendered once more; wife and child went inside. I walked our guest to his car. And spent five minutes in the driveway talking about investments and real estate.

Oh, shut up. That’s different.