My wife and I broke up a party:

My wife and I broke up a party. I have an abhorrence of breaking up parties. When I was a small child, nine maybe, my beloved Germanic grandma told me about the difference between French Leave and English Leave. She was a goldmine of misinformation, so please don't try to learn anything from what she said: “French Leave” is a term of disdain, but it's the right thing to do. The Frenchman thanks his host or hostess discreetly and sneaks away, leaving the party in full swing. The Englishman goes around saying goodbye to everyone, shaking hands, and giving everyone else the excuse to go. He breaks up the party. I would never want to do that!

But there we were, at a dinner party that started at seven p.m. on December 25. Several delicious hours had passed, and the whole meal had been served with much animated conversation. Many of the guests were older than we, in their seventies. We had to get up early the next day for morning services, a Yahrzeit. So we suggested that we bentsch. Bentsching was fun.

But sure enough, after that, everyone said goodbye and left. I knew it was going to happen. I cringed all the way through bentsching. Maybe we should have crawled into some corner to say our prayers without a mezumin. But ... bentsching shouldn't break up a party.