December 8, 2007
Last night, I realized something strange about myself. I have a very difficult time acting appropriately--I believe it's a trait that I've inherited from my mother. My behavior becomes particularly uncalled for when I'm in a party situation, or when I find myself surrounded by straight-laced, well mannered, conservative folks.
It's really too bad that I'm a member of a religion filled with modest people who love to throw parties. Because, holy cow you guys, I have way too much fuel for this fire that's burning inside of me.
A few years ago, Jared and I attended a "Get to Know You Game Night." There were a lot of new couples in the congregation, and we were trying to forge some new friendships. The hostess of the game night was like, "Mmmmm....I have an idea! Let's all go around and say something interesting about ourselves!"
You could almost see the wheels turning inside of people's heads. In their sweet, loving minds they were thinking, "Should I tell them that I majored in dance at BYU, or should I tell them about my two-year mission to Thailand? Boy that's a tough one."
And then, when it was my turn, I was all, "Hi, my name is Amy. Something interesting about me? Let's see..... Well I'm married to a man who used to wait tables at a very fancy restaurant. And one time, while he was taking someone's wine order, he sharted in his pants--right there at the table! Can you believe that?! Okay, I think that's all I'd like to share."
Jared shot me the deadliest stare I'd ever seen, while the girl next to me was like, "I like to quilt?"
Well, last night was my church Christmas party, and I can't say that I didn't go out without a bang.
I was walking down the hallway, looking for James, when I was intercepted by one of the kindest women I know. She was like, "Oh Amy, can you help me? I need to get forty children dressed up for the nativity play, and I don't think that I can do it by myself." Obviously, I obliged. And I managed to dress three shepherds and two angels before I spotted an unopened box of costumes.
In hopes of finding some jazzy accessories, I opened the box. And holy hotcakes, I hit the friggin' jackpot. I'm not sure how this box had settled in among the nativity costumes, but it was filled with feather boas, sunglasses, Mardi Gras beads, and--the piece de resistance--a black dress, size XXL. In a split second, I found myself ignoring the children, and begging my friend's husband to let me dress him up.
"Seriously Larry" I pleaded. "You don't have to do a thing. All you have to do is stand there, let me dress you up, and then walk into the gym when Brother Foote mentions something about wise men."
Larry was like, "Yeah, that's fine."
And within three minutes, my buddy Larry had been transformed into the most flamboyant wise man in the history of Christianity. He wore the classic wise man hat, but I glammed it up with a simple black dress, a pink feather boa, gold sunglasses, a princess crown, Mardi Gras beads that were the size of light bulbs, and a fluffy belt with a six-shooter tucked into it.
As soon as Larry was dressed, I got him into the line of actors, and I went to the gym to watch the show. The stage was filled with thirty-or-so children, wearing serious faces, and carefully following directions. And then, all of the sudden, the wise men entered stage left. Now there were thirty-two lovely children, and one six-foot attorney dressed in drag.
No one laughed. No one gasped. No one let out so much as a quiet, little snicker.
They were either thinking, "Oh poor Larry. He didn't realize that this play was just for children. And, geeze, he's got terrible taste!" or "Wow. I really, really can't wait until Amy Lawson moves back to New England."
I will call a therapist on Monday.