Not Quite Ready for Prime Time

I have terrible news.

I have a party in two weeks and I have nothing to wear.

This would not be a big deal, except that this party is being hosted by, and attended by, relatives of Warren's.  Warren's relatives, as a collective group, are tall, willowy, gracious, outgoing, professionally accomplished, personally talented and socially adept.  I, on the other hand, am short, squat, and socially awkward.  I teach eighth grade for a living and my most noteworthy talent seems to be writing down the snarky things I say in my head for other people to read, a habit for which I receive exactly no remuneration or wide-scale public acclaim.  On top of that, I suck at being sociable at cocktail parties where I don't know the majority of the attendees. I can't hear well when there are a million other people talking around me, so my "small talk" tends to consist of me yelling, "Excuse me?" and "What?" a lot to someone who pretty much didn't want to talk to me in the first place.  Then I wind up standing somewhere on the sidelines, getting stepped on a zillion times since people don't tend to look down a whole lot when they're looking around for the bar. 

As the joke goes, Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?

At the ripe old age of forty-one, I have made peace with most of my personal flaws and foibles.  I have learned to live with the fact that I'm an introvert. I do not usually fare well in social gatherings if I don't already know most of the people there.  I also don't have any sense of how to dress for those occasions that fall outside the three categories of things for which I have an internal dress code, those being work, weekends, and weddings.  For example, my friend Toasty invited me to her lovely daughter's first birthday party last year, which was a huge neighborhood shindy involving ideas I shamelessly poached for my own daughter's fifth birthday extravaganza.  It was held on a weekend, so I arrived in my usual Saturday mufti of shorts, t-shirt, and athletic sandals, with an air of dishevelment about the hair and frenzy about the eyes, if I remember correctly.  Apparently I was the only mom who didn't get the memo to dress in a breezy cotton sundress accessorized with a sweater and cute dressy sandals, because that's what every other mother at the party was wearing.  I mean, damn! Is there some kind of sub rosa woman-to-woman grapevine that spreads the dress code through nonverbal communication?  "Psst.  We're all wearing capris and Indian-print tops to the preschool picnic.  Pass it on!"  How is it that everyone else figures these things out and I can't?  Did I miss the boat by not joining a sorority in college?  Did someone pass out PIN codes to unlock the door to middle-class momhood and I forgot to write it down??  What am I doing wrong???

So now I have to figure out something to wear that is dressy, but not too dressy, and stylish, or at least not hopelessly out of date.  And then I have to wear it for several hours, preferably without spilling something down my front.  And I have to make sparkling conversation while hoping and praying that my adorably-dressed children aren't wetting themselves, eating all the canapes, getting into fights with their cousins, or some combination of the above.  Just thinking about all of this is making me slightly queasy.  Maybe I can hire Toasty to be my cocktail-party stunt double!  She seems to know what to wear, say, and do in these situations.  Then I can stay home in my JCPenney's flannel pj pants and hunt through the TV listings for Real Housewives reruns while she dazzles everyone with my social acumen.  It's a win-win! 

Being ever the optimist, I can see one silver lining around this particular cloud.  At least I am not a member of the extended Obama/Robinson clan, because being an introverted underachiever at their family reunions must REALLY suck!  Imagine that conversation:  "Hi, Michelle!" [awkward silence] "So, um, how's the White House treating you?"  [longer and even more awkward pause] "Me?  Well, I'm, uh, still blogging.  Yep, I passed the 500-post mark recently!  I don't suppose you've had time to read my latest post, have you?  No?  Well, you're busy. What?  WHAT?  I can't hear you very well.  I'm just going to, uh - you'll excuse me - yeah!  Let's get together sometime!  My calendar's pretty open.  Good talking to you!"

Comments

[Robin]

Shit! What happened to my earlier comment. It was so witty, and clever, and well-thought-out. Shit!

[Robin]

Anywho, it was along the lines of... YOU, C, are perfect just the way you are. Just be your wit-filled self, and you'll be a smash. Post pics of all of your outfits. Yes, there were a lot of sundresses at that party, but there was no memo. I wish I could get a career in socializing and party-planning... Hmmm... I wonder where that comment went?!

[Elaine]

"Me? Well, I'm, uh, still blogging. Yep, I passed the 500-post mark recently"

Hahahaha! Hey that's a big accomplishment!! I'm with you on the dress code. It's like all my fashion sense went into the placenta and came shooting out of my crotch after the munchkin was born.(sorry for the visual) I HAVE A DEGREE IN FASHION MERCHANDISING which makes me even more pathetic. And yet somehow, when I have to get dressed up, I look straight at my cargo pants and black t-shirt and think, 'that's dressed up. it's black right?'

[Auntie Sarah]

Hon,

I need to invite you to hang out with the moms I know! Their appearance is big on paint stains; gray roots; copious leg and/or armpit hair; and rips in unfortunately conspicuous places. (Not that I am snarking on paint stains, etc. I have been known to sport all of the above, sometimes all on the same day.)

I don't know why I don't know many members of the "cute sundress" crowd. Perhaps they are less likely than my paint-stained crew to hang with the non-childed but still child-friendly (such as yours truly). Could there be a sociology thesis in this? (Forgive the grad student for thinking that there's a paper topic in EVERYTHING!)

[NATUI]

OMG, you had me at capris and Indian-print tops. Seriously. I got sweaty palms just reading your post. I tend to be the mom everyone thinks is the nanny. The comfy low-rise jeans, thrift shop golf shoes and standard crew neck t-shirt have cost me a playdate or two. I tell myself I would hate to "do lunch" with them, but I don't want my kids to suffer, either. Ah shit. Thank god it's summer. I don't have to deal with the preschool fashion show until fall.