Warning: The following post contains hyperbole and mockery. No actual pineapples were harmed in the writing of this post. This post is not intended to insult those who love flaming pineapples, coconut bras or themed parties. Although it probably will.
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It always starts out small. It does. “We’ll keep it simple,” they say. “Just getting together,” they say. “It will be fun,” they say. But at some point, there will be a flaming pineapple. Mark my words.
A number of years ago, I was in a supper club with five or six other couples. The gal who invited me enticed me to join by saying, “We’ll keep it simple. Just getting together. It will be fun.”
That sounded good.
“Every month, someone will host the supper in their home,” she went on to explain.
“And they will plan the menu and the theme.”
Theme. A chill ran up my spine. I know what theme means.
Theme means that someone, at some point, under the influence of estrogen, will go all Martha and do something uber-creative, like carve a watermelon into a sailboat for a centerpiece, and she’ll make place card settings out of peppermints and pipe cleaners, and she’ll greet you at the door wearing a sailor suit while Anchors Away plays in the background.
The watermelon sailboat ratchets up the Martha factor exponentially for the next hostess and each hostess thereafter. Things begin to escalate. Before you know it, there will be a flaming pineapple for a centerpiece and the hostess is wearing a coconut bra and a hula skirt.
And then next month, when it’s your turn to hostess, you spend 30 days racking your brain to come up with something that could top a flaming pineapple. And you begin to measure your value as a human being against the creativity of your table favors. And then you are left to hang your head in shame, because who can top a flaming pineapple? No one. Only Martha.
Earlier in the week, I got an email from Sean’s room mother asking that each mom sign up to host a monthly luncheon at school for the kindergarten class. Then I got an email from another mom who suggested each month have a theme.
So I signed up for May, the last month of school. That should give me plenty of time to learn how to properly ignite a pineapple.
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Post script: I’m supposing that I was still on the email list only because word hadn’t gotten around that I sent my child to school this week with a lunch of bacon and cookies. Wait… I think I just settled on a theme.