A League To Bemoan

There are many "not so proud' moments in my life.

There was the time when I went into a stall in my college dorm bathroom with an entire sheet cake (an action preceded by one or two thousand cocktails, if memory serves). My college roommate found me the next morning, on the floor half in and half out of the stall, surrounded by a dead-body-type-chalk-outline of chocolate cake crumbs.

I didn't date much.

Then there was the time that I took my Brownie uniform off for Timmy -- a boy who lived across the street from me in Syracuse, New York. I know, I know...a lot of people think this is perfectly normal and that sometimes little kids will do this when they learn that there are differences between boys and girls. I'm sure my parents would have handled it better if Timmy was not 37. Or my uncle.

But maybe my least proud moment of all was the few months I spent as part of the Junior League of Northern Virginia. (Tagline: We're like the Nazis. But less fun.)

As part of an effort to "get involved!" and "make a difference!" and "give back to the community!" a few years back, I signed on to become a member. (Which, not unlike a sorority, gave me a "pledge" status until I had been with the organization for six months and had accumulated a number of points. No...I'm not kidding.)

I joined this organization at the same time as my friend, Amy. Amy, who arrived late to a meeting one evening and was asked for the super-secret password at the secure door. She remembered that the password was the name of the cookbook that the Junior League published as an annual fundraiser, but could not remember the exact name. She said to the person on the other end of the intercom, "I know it is the name of the cookbook -- is it "What's for Dinner"? or "Can I Bring Something"? and guessed a few more titles that she thought might be correct. Instead of getting partial credit for knowing the origin of the password, she got denied entry. TO AN ORGANIZATION FOR WHICH SHE WAS VOLUNTEERING.

The cookbook title, incidentally?  "What Can I Bring?" (Though to be fair,  no members of the Taliban have thus far infiltrated any Junior League of Northern Virginia meetings -- so perhaps I should not poke fun at their security measures.)

The organization was structured in a way that the members were required to attend a large general monthly meeting and also monthly small group meetings. The small groups were configured based on geography, with the hope that you would meet other women who lived close to you. My small group leader suggested that we all meet for coffee to get to know each other. I guess she wanted to let us all know that her husband had just bought her some roses, because she opened the meeting by announcing that. And then by asking each of us what our husbands did for us that was romantic.

I learned that day that not everyone considers a "Tony Danza" a romantic gesture.

As you likely surmised, I never made it past my pledge period. Which is probably just as well. The rumors about showing up at initiation wearing just my underwear were freaking me out anyway.

What Can I Bring? It's Already Broughten,
Brutalism