Right Place - Wrong Time

Have you ever felt like a complete and total stressed out and over booked fool? If someone said no, let me give you an example.

I am a proud member of the Junior League of Texarkana. I have spent many a Monday night in a general meeting, board meeting, Mistletoe Fair meeting, or a social meeting. A few years ago it was Christmas time and that means the Junior League Christmas Social. Christmas Social is always held at someone’s private home, which is always a showcase. This particular year the social was going to be held at Debbie’s house. I had been inside Debbie’s house before but wanted to see her snow village collection again. I was also pregnant and knew we always had the event catered. I was hungry.

I put on my one Christmas maternity outfit (Red silk shirt and black leather pants), and headed to Debbie’s house. When I arrived there were not as many cars as I expected. More food for me! I walked in and asked for the sign in sheet. Debbie said there was not one and left to tend to her other guest.

This should have been my first clue that something was amiss. There is always a sign in sheet at a Junior League meeting. It must be in our bylaws that a sign in sheet is required if more then two of us are together. I looked into the dining room and noticed corning ware dishes on the table. While my first thought should have been that I was at the wrong party, it was not. None the less, my mind was racing. Oh Shit! I was supposed to bring a covered dish? No one told me! I didn’t get an email. Damn phone tree. I told them that shit never works.

At this moment I should have been planning my unnoticed escape. Not me. I am mentally freaking out trying to devise a plan on how I can drive to get a bucket of chicken and make it back before anyone notices. It is a social death in the South to show up to a social and be the only one who didn’t bring a covered dish. You might as well screw a high school boy. By this time I am in a cold sweat. A pregnant woman perspiring heavily in leather maternity pants is never a good thing.

After walking around a little in the living room, it finally dawned on me. This is not the Junior League Social. Yes I was at Debbie’s house, and the Social was to be held at Debbie’s house – the next night. Once I finally came to this realization, I grabbed my purse and hauled ass out of there.

When I got home, I explained it all to my husband. He was still laughing while he was helping me get out of my leather pants. He was not helping me get out of my pants in the way you might think. I literally could not get myself out of my pants and had to ask him for help. The next night I said to hell with it and wore jeans. I proudly walked into Debbie’s house, signed in, and ate half of everything on the dining room table. Including ¼ of a sun dried tomato cheesecake.



As always thank you for reading my post and I hope you feel a little bit better about yourself.