The Ladies Of San Martin

Wish me luck. Tomorrow from 11am to 1pm, I will be at a luncheon with The Ladies Of San Martin de Porres Catholic Church. What, may you ask, will I be doing there? WELL. Most likely, I will be cringing somewhere in a corner hoping that no one talks to me and if they do, hoping that I don't mumble and stutter like an idiot. I am a hermit by nature. I do not like being in social circumstances. It makes my tummy knot up and my face involuntarily turns bright red and I get all blotchy around my neck and then my hands get shaky. and still, you ask, what will I be doing there? or better yet...why am I torturing myself? Here is the answer. My son, Cristian, attends San Martin de Porres Catholic School. His best friend, Jerry, has an active mother named, Pat, who is also the assistant at the church, to Father Eduardo Ortega. Perhaps the most beautiful priest I have ever seen. And Roy swears I will burn in Hell for thinking so. So Father Ortega suggested that Pat form a luncheon for the ladies at the church and he would speak and we could greet and meet and eat. Sounds pleasant, right? AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! I spend my entire life avoiding meeting people. Cristian, on the other hand, spends his every waking moment as the center of attention. ask me. Do I know any other mothers at his school? no. Do I know any of the other mothers on his soccer team? no. Do I know any of the mothers in his Boy Scout Troop? no. seriously. no. So last weekend I went to Pat's house (the only mother that I know) to pick up Cristian from a Sunday afternoon full of Yu Gi Oh dueling and tree climbing and Pat invited me to this luncheon thingy. I WANTED to say that I had other terribly important things to do and that I was terribly sorry that I wouldn't be able to make it but what came out of my mouth sounded more like..."Sure." WHAT THE...?!? and as I tried to come up with some way to back-pedal my way out of this....I decided to bite the bullet and just do it. And Pat asked me..."Well who else do you talk to at the school?" and I whimpered..."Just you." and she said..."Oh!" and I said..."I'm REALLY shy." So Pat said I could sit at her table. Thanks, Pat. I owe you one. I tried to explain to Pat that I would try this luncheon thingy out but since its going to take place every month, I didn't know if I could commit to continuing with it because I might become violently ill as a result of my attendance. She agreed that would be fine. So tomorrow I will be lunching with the Ladies of San Martin. And I am terrified of the Ladies of San Martin. Terrified as if they were a pack of starving werewolves or a gang of bloodthirsty vampires. Terrified that they will think I am a dork, because I am. Terrified that they will not like how I dress or how I look or how I talk. Terrified that they will find out that I like comic books and that I read fantasy fiction. Because Moms that have kids who go to Catholic School and play soccer and attend Boy Scouts do NOT read comic books or fantasy fiction. They also do NOT have striped hair. And they certainly do NOT listen to the Smiths or Descendents and they NEVER EVER EVER wear t-shirts that say Rocky Horror Picture Show on the front with big red lips. They just don't DO that. and FURTHERMORE...they don't say phrases like..."rock it out" or "check yourself before you wreck yourself". or "SNAPS!". What THEY wear is pastel colored short pants with jeweled flip-flops and long white blouses and what THEY read is Good Housekeeping Magazine and what THEY watch is The Oprah Winfrey Show, NOT Da Ali G Show. and what THEY say are things like..."Will your daughter be old enough for Cotillion this year?" or "Heavens No! I bought this at the Foley's Red Apple Sale!" so I am basically SO screwed. My plan of attack is to not talk. not breathe. not blink. and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD not move from wherever it is that I plant my butt. and maybe, just maybe, no one will notice me. and I can eat my lunch...I take that back...I can't eat with a bunch of strangers...I mean I can push my food around on my plate and PRETEND I'm eating, and listen to Father Ortega and catch snippets of school gossip and leave and never go back there again. ever. ever. again. (sob!)