Today, I am contemplating napkin rings. I have two sets. The first is made of black metal twisted into "artistic" squiggly circles and the second contains giant blue plastic circles with tacky-looking Cala lilies glued on top, so large they look as if they were made for an elephant's tea party. They sit in a drawer in my dining room, and, every few months, I bump into them as I rummage through the drawer for some odd or end that is missing. Each time, I think, "I should get rid of these rings. I never use them." Then my inner hostess replies, "but they're napkin rings! What if I want to have a fancy meal and I set out nice cloth napkins and there are no rings to put them in. " I reply, "But I don't even have nice cloth napkins. I have some orange pieces of cloth and some ivy print hemmed squares that I inherited from the leavings of a yard sale or perhaps it was Aunt Ida's estate sale. I can't remember. Either way, I'm sure they'll never match with anything or elevate any table setting now known to man." She answers, "But I might suddenly inherit a large collection of fine linen napkins from a long lost relative I've never heard of. They could be fine white linen from England. There I will be... swimming in a pile of beautiful embroidered napkins, with VIPs lining up at my door for a fancy dinner party and gourmet food, and me heartbroken because I haven't a single napkin ring." I can't argue with her well-thought out arguments, so I close the drawer and walk away. The rings remain, alone in their little plastic bags, waiting for napkins that don't yet exist. Twisty metal and giant blue elephant lilies, proof, apparently, that I am a classy hostess.