09 December, 2011

Silent Competition in my Head

My church hosted a women's dessert this past Monday.  I have know idea why, but I volunteered to decorate a table.  I must have been drunk.  That's the only explanation as to why I would torture myself.

This table became my life.  I obsessed over it.  I felt like the Target Christmas lady, but mainly because I prefer to wear one piece red leotards.  The sad part is, I don't think my final project really looked like it was all I thought about for two weeks straight.  And maybe that's why I got a C on my math final. (Don't worry Mom, my letter stayed in tact.)

I walked in the church Sunday night to set up my table, and felt a panic attack sneaking up through my legs.  Is that where your panic attacks start too?  Crazy.

The women that were recruited for this party of sorts really brought their A-games.  I was nervous to even unpack my goods, because I felt inferior for no good reason.  This was church, they're not allowed to be mean.  Ha!  Oh honey.  But it turns out this bunch of hens (and I really do say that with the nicest of intentions) were very sweet.

I had no china of my own, so I thrifted everything but the silver, which I stole from my own house.  I'm pretty sure Justin was cooking dinner that night and was wondering why the only utensils he could find were butter knives and a slotted spoon.

Ah, the centerpiece.  This was my favorite part.  People kept asking me what my theme was, and all I could come up with was, "Uhhh, this is some junk I had around the house.  And then I through some candles in and voila!"  As if my inferiority complex couldn't get any larger, I had to go and say something dumb like that.  Surprisingly, I got lots of compliments.  I couldn't tell if they were just doing the good Christian thing, or if they genuinely liked it.  I'm leaning towards the latter, because a few women suggested I decorate again next year.  But maybe they were only saying that because they wanted to laugh at me two years in a row.

I'm just glad they didn't ask me to provide the desserts.  Because I would have brought those store-bought sugar cookies with the mound of icing on top and called it good.  Folks, I'm not a baker.  Anyone interested in teaching me?

The whole plate was amaze- except for the fried prune pies.  Poor, poor prune pies.  They get no respect.

I wish I would have taken a photo of the ladies that adorned my table.  It was peppered with neighbors, old friends, new friends, best friends, and a couple of randos that I am going to force into being my friend.  We declared ourselves "The Cool Table" and talked about the big game on Friday night and who was wearing what to prom.  I wonder if that's what the kids in high school really talked about?  If so, they were obviously just as lame as the rest of the school.

Until next time.

P.S.  I just reread this and it totally looks like I might be fishing for compliments by being hard on myself.  But that couldn't be farther from the truth.  I just wanted to show you what was going through my head.  It's a mad, mad, mad world in there.  

No comments:

Post a Comment

Like this post? Show me some love via comment.

Hated this post? Well, I guess that's your choice. But I still like you.