Charlie and Ruth decide to throw a virtual dinner party for six. But first they’ve got to pick the spot and settle on the guest list.

Ruth: Charlie, I’ve got a sweet idea! What if we host a virtual dinner, and invite anyone we want to our table for six? Just think of the scintillating conversations we could have!
Charlie: I love it. No one throws actual dinner parties anymore. Apparently humans have become afraid to sit at parties. Point of irony: this is the second time in the last few days someone has used the word scintillating to pique my writing interest. Methinks it has become my very own verbal kryptonite. I can’t resist the thought of scintillating conversation. I’m already smiling.

Ruth: First, let’s make a reservation. If you could throw a dinner party anywhere you wanted in the world, where would it be?
Charlie: Wow. I think a dinner party on white sands would be fantastic. Near a beach, mind you, not surrounded by camels and endless thirst. I’ve been meaning to go dive the Grand Caymans for the last couple years. Surely there’s a vacant island beach out there somewhere. Call me crazy, but I like the idea of making it look exactly like the group dinners on Gilligan’s Island. You know what I mean – bamboo tables, tiki torches, Ginger, Mary Ann, et al. And I like the idea of all of us flying out there in a small plane buzzing out over the ocean. I also see myself in a white linen suit that hangs just right. Can I be super-tan?

Ruth: I can see it now! The Great Gatsby meets Gilligan’s Island. But which one am I? Ginger or Mary Ann?
Charlie: Which do you prefer, pigtails & belly buttons, or sequins & cleavage?

Ruth:  What if I said pigtails and cleavage?  Either way, you must come as yourself, even if that means wearing overalls and a pair of red Converse. But there’s nothing worse than sand in your sneakers, so scratch that.  My dream setting would actually be in Umbria. A magical place in the sunny Italian countryside where time stands still, and the weight of the world does not exist. Just copious amounts of wine and pasta, tilled directly from verdant fields. We’d hole up in a quaint 400 year-old stone farmhouse, where the owners would create a seven course gastronomic masterpiece for us, based on what’s blooming in their garden that day. The neighboring vineyard would supply a cask of their best chianti, poured by none other than Sophia Loren. Ah, la bella vita!
Charlie: Overalls and Chucks is a powerful ensemble, not for the faint of heart. Your Italian feast sounds fan-credible (I’m combining praise-words today which, I have to say, is excitillating). I like to think that Michael Buble is in a corner somewhere, singing Puccini. And Sophia Loren can pour me anything she wants.

Ruth: Second, you must choose two guests to liven the conversation. The beauty is since it’s virtual, they can be alive or deceased. Who’s on your short list? Please pick a motley crew, a pair who’d be willing to trip the light fantastic with us!
Charlie: Without question, Jesus. If our party runs out of wine, we’ll be straight. After that, I gotta go with Diane Sawyer. It’s long been a dream of mine to have a laugh with Diane on a beautiful beach. I never planned on company, but I’m a flexible sort of fellow. What about you?
Ruth: Diane Sawyer. Really? You’re throwing me for a loop! We’d have to set some ground rules for her up front: no cross-examining the guests over dinner. It’s our party, after all. As for my guest list, there’s no question it’s Leonardo da Vinci. There’s so many things he could dish about, including that back-stabbing upstart Michelangelo, who was always getting in his face! Or his fondness for setting trends, like drawing the world’s first skeletal chart by peeling cadavers at his kitchen table. I could also get the real dirt on his purported predilection for young men, but I wonder if I’ll be so bold as to go there, considering our mixed company. And Diane Sawyer might leak that to the press, creating all sorts of post-dinner trauma and libel suits.

Charlie: Don’t you worry about a thing; Diane is a class act, though a bit of a minx once the cameras stop rolling. (Sidebar: She, like me, loves Cheetos. Watch the video. We’re meant to be. ) Da Vinci is a nice choice, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to sit on the opposite side of the table from him. Geniuses always see the world with a different set of rules. If he isn’t in the mood to get hammered and carbo-load, he might just take a bite out of someone’s leg, and I’d prefer it not be mine. But there’s an upside – if any of our guests get out of line, he’ll sketch something devious with which to ensnare them, after dessert.

Ruth: ‘Course, I’d have to ask Leo the obvious: what was Mona Lisa really smiling about? After a few aperitifs, I would climb under the table with him to inscribe a few new inventions on the underside of the table. All backwards, of course. This is dinner party is going to rock!
Charlie: Ah, I miss the old days when something written backwards was considered cryptic. While you’re under the table with Leo the Lush, I’ll be in the poolhouse with Diane and Sophia. Gosh, at this point, I guess that would look more like Cocoon than Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

Ruth: To round out the guest list, my final choice would be Mother Teresa. I’ve always admired her gritty determination and ability to transcend suffering. It would be nice to put her on the receiving end for a change! In fact, if I could squeeze in another person, it would be Mahatma Gandhi just to her right. (They’re petite, and I can tell the chef to split their plates.) Who better to rap with over homemade linguine swimming in clam sauce, than the man who declared, “Be the change you want to see in the world”.
Charlie: I can’t argue that choice. I always wanted to meet the little lady who changed the world. Although do you think she’d have fun at a feast so clearly designed to self-indulge? Maybe we’d lose the Mother and the Mahatma later in the evening, only to find them in the kitchen, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the cooks while having a pleasant discussion on the meaning of suffering.

Ruth: I originally thought Mother Teresa should say grace, but now that Jesus Christ is on board, he’s obviously the man. Of course, we’d be shooting ourselves in the sneakers if we assembled this rock star cast, then failed to ask them the secret of life…You know Charlie, the answer to that one thing that Jack Palance was about to divulge to Billy Crystal in “City Slickers” right before he kicked the bucket? I’m dying to know what it is.
Charlie: I always thought it would be interesting to hear Jesus pray. I’ve never prayed to myself before. And Ruth, you get five bonus Chat Points for referencing Jesus Christ and Jack Palance in the same sentence. That takes some extra brand of mental gymnastics I have yet to truly master. But wait! Ghandi and Gilbert Gottfried. Now I’ve got it.

Ruth: Charlie, this dinner is going to be heavenly! At the same time, I’m worried all mayhem might break loose.

Charlie: I know, right? Diane starts talking about complex social politics and Jesus reminds her to simply love thy neighbor. Da Vinci, tanked on Pinot Noir, asks Jesus some untoward questions about Mary Magdalene and Mother Teresa promptly smacks him in the noodle. Ghandi, upset with the growing strife, begins to eyeball the lit candles over by Sophia Loren, who’s now beginning to freak out in Italian. Meanwhile, Michael Buble is singing “Come Fly With Me” over by the big ficus plant. It could get ugly.