Every year, our neighbors decide it would be nice to get together and see what's going on in the lives of others living on our street. Each year, it becomes increasingly awkward when we have the conversation with a family we've never met:

Us: So, which house is yours?
Them: The one with the long driveway and the big rock out in front.
Us: Ah. What cute children you have. I haven't seen them on our street very much. When did you move here?
Them: About eight years ago. When did you guys move here?
Us: 1986.

It seems we found a pretty good plan this year. The main strategies were:

• Be out of town, giving you the excuse to show up an hour and a half late
• Forget to wear the proper clothing, forcing you to return to a warm home early
• Bring lots of cupcakes as distractions for those who might notice you leaving early.

All things went according to plan. I spent my 15 or so minutes at the party talking to three of the neighbors I knew, strategically avoiding an awkward confrontation. All in all, things weren't so bad. Yet I envy my brother, who managed to one-up the rest of us with his "symptoms of early bronchitis" and not showing up at all.