Bit by bit, I am becoming integrated into the parent community around Daisy's school. Resistance is futile!
When I wrote that I had become the PTA Board Secretary, that wasn't technically true. Although the only other candidate for the position had backed out (despite my pleading for him to save me from the job), no one can ascend to the Board without an official vote by the PTA membership. Last night that meeting occurred.
I demonstrated my commitment to the PTA by missing the meeting. I felt it was important to set the bar nice and low. There's no point in having them believe that I'm some sort of Super Secretary, heroically performing all required duties. I hate being the victim of high expectations.
My better half, Hank, attended the meeting on my behalf. She gave them a little Mike flava by making a smart aleck remark when it was time for comments on my candidacy. Soon the votes were tallied, and I'm proud to announce that I trounced my nonexistent competition. I am now OFFICIALLY the Secretary of the Board of the Parent Teacher Association for Daisy's school.
Then, this weekend, the wife and I attended a party celebrating the success of the annual school auction. They raised something like $160,000, so they threw themselves a party to celebrate.
I'm not a big party guy, or a big celebration guy, or one of those I-like-people guys, so I wasn't particularly excited about the party from the get-go. Then, Hank explained that the party was being held in a church.
Yeah, a party in a church.
Most of you would probably concede that a party being held in a church is at a pretty big disadvantage, fun-wise. For me it's extra troubling. I'm not a big church guy. Maybe it's because I fear organized religion, or perhaps it's due to my complete lack of spirituality, or maybe I just spent too many childhood hours in a synagogue to ever feel comfortable in a church. Regardless, I'm one of those people who walks into a church and says, "Do you smell flesh burning? Is that me again?"
But, I sucked it up, wore my least flammable clothing, and accompanied my wife to the church party. When we walked in, I noticed several things. First, there were more couches than pews. Yeah, bright whorehouse-red couches liberally sprinkled amongst the pews. In front of the couches, instead of finding some sort of pulpit, there were a few guitars, a drum kit, a keyboard, and some bongos.
Second, we were only at the party for about a minute when one of the party organizers rushed over to see if we wanted a cocktail. Why, yes! If I had to make a list of my favorite activities to perform in a house of worship, drinking cocktails would be damn near the top.
Speaking of perform, midway through the party, several parents started jamming on the instruments, while another parent manned the church mixing board. They weren't half bad either. It made me wish that I had some sort of party skill other than getting drunk. I offered to do a little jazz-style improvisational computer programming (structures be damned!), but the other party-goers were strangely uninterested. Weirdos.
The best part of the evening, of course, was that I did not combust.