I passed out at my first dinner party by ten pm. Too much wine while I cooked. The guy I invited to get my leg over told me later he came up to check on me and I was snoring like a trucker. I'm the worst host and an even more terrible guest.
I mean, I made roasted lamb shanks, scalloped patotoes in herbed cream sauce, nut/cheddar/mushroom filos, and homemade chocolate mousse. And salad. And nibbles. And wine, my nemesis. At least I made it through the full meal before crapping out. Twenty years later, I still cringe.