This year I decided that I could slowly work my way back into volunteering at the school. So I dipped my toes into put my feet into submerged half of my body back into the volunteering pool. After 5 years of boycotting the PTA, I knew I could do it.
I joined the executive board at the elementary school and got involved again. I was right to give it another chance. This year was wonderful. The elementary school PTA president is amazing as is the entire board. I slowly learned it was okay to be myself with them. To actually be myself. I can speak up and not get shot down. I can ask for help and people step up. I have enjoyed working with this group of women.
I go to the school to do PTA-ish things and enjoy it.
Shocking. I know.
So, when the junior high PTA approached me about perhaps volunteering for that school, I was still in such a “I have had such a great year” high that I said, “Sure! Would love to! Sign me up!” (So cheerful I almost threw up in my own mouth.)
Then reality hit me.
I DID WHAT?!
When the morning of the installation meeting came, I was all prepared to tell the new president at the junior high that I could not possibly be on the executive board. Not at two schools. That I was obviously way too drunk when we talked. Or on crack. Or both. Point was, I was going to quit.
I talked to the people who know me the best and was good to go. Or good to not so much go as the case was.
I parked my Stepford mobile and marched with my head held high ready to Just Say No!
As I walked, I felt something on the back of my leg. I rubbed to get it off. Nothing. I rubbed more frantically and realized it was on the inside of my jeans.
My first thought? Cellulite just burst out and took over my thigh like an exploding container of cottage cheese.
Thankfully, I was wrong.
I tried to work whatever was caught in my pants leg down far enough to yank it out. I assumed it was a dryer sheet. So as I walked to the school I was doing what could only be described as my best imitation of Elaine dancing on Seinfeld. I know I looked ridiculous and I also knew I was on camera because they have them everywhere. If anyone in the office was watching, they were getting a good laugh.
As I entered the building, I realized I would just have to go to the faculty bathroom and snag whatever it was. But ever the optimist, I did one last spastic shimmy kick of my leg to free the object.
And then to my horror as I stood in the middle of the main foyer of the junior high during class changes, I kicked free the object. Out flew a pair of back lace panties that must have become stuck in the leg of my jeans when they were washed.
Immediately I scooped up my free flying underwear and stuffed them into my bag looking around to see if anyone noticed. Duh. A MOM flinging her underwear across the hall? No way it went unnoticed.
I entered the office as the office manager tried to hold back a laugh as she signed me in.
“You saw nothing. If you did see something, it was all your imagination. Cool?”
She just looked at me and laughed.
Needless to say it rattled me enough that not only did I not quit, I accepted the position with a smile on my face and got the hell out of there at the first opportunity.
I do believe that I have been assimilated into the Stepford way of life.