One More Week

I’ve been in charge of seating for a Fashion Show Benefit to be held tomorrow (Saturday). What a pain in my neck. The show benefits veterans and children. I’ve been entrenched in it for coming up on eight years. I chaired it for 2 years, I’ve done seating for nearly 8, and I’ve had to model a few times. Now before any of you who don’t know me get any ideas of what I look like, I’m not some tall skinny model type. I just happen to be younger than everyone else by about 20-40 years. They see young they think, “model” and it doesn’t matter that my body is now gross, overstretched and flat out icky… because it looks better than theirs.

This happens to be an election year for our State organization so anyone who is running for office is coming to this Benefit, to be seen, to garner votes. We’re upwards of 200 women coming as of now. Well… as in any organization, not everyone gets along with everyone else. Over the years, bridges have been burned, things said that should not have been, and feelings have been hurt. Unfortunately, because I’m so involved, and because I spend a lot of time observing, I am fully aware of who gets along with who. It’s one of the reasons they like having me in the job. I don’t talk about it… nobody knows who likes who… except me.

Now, it is probably irrelevant, and I should probably just sit anyone where ever I want, screw them all, but I can’t do that. It’s just not right. When I invite someone into my home, I want everyone to be comfortable. (It is my chapter hosting this.) Yes, I do expect everyone will have their manners and they would… trust me, there would be NO catfights, but why in the world make someone feel uncomfortable if you don’t have to.

So for 3 days, I’ve been cutting and pasting, dropping and dragging, and as people have been calling in and canceling due to the flu, I’ve been rearranging tables to maximize space in the room as the place we’re having it completely screwed us over and we’re pressed for space. Meanwhile… I have the whole issue of someone has to have the tables that just aren’t quite as desirable as others and since *I’M* the one doing the seating, *I’M* the one that will have to deal with their crap. As I do every year.

I’m pretty much over it and if anyone complains, I’m shoving the seating chart in their faces and saying, “Oh! It is so nice that you volunteered to do this next year. Give me your e-mail address so I can send you the files.”

And I still have 1 more week until the big cocktail party that I’ve been putting together. One more week… and the big stuff is over. I cannot frickin’ wait.