This was a Job for the Sociable Spouse

You knew this was coming when you read on Facebook that my son had offered our home as last Friday's pre-Frosh (freshman/sophomore dance) gathering spot for picture taking. I believe my status update ended with *+%#@!%&!. I was at work on Thursday when he asked if it was okay, so I had nonchalantly said yes without asking for details. Important details like, "How many people are coming," and "What's required of me beyond snapping a picture?" At 9:00 p.m. that evening I learned he was estimating about 30 people. Oh, and could I maybe provide some food? Hence the *+%#@!%&!

Much like everything these days (from Sweet 16 parties to senior prom invites), the pre-dance gathering has become a bit excessive. I guess I shouldn't say "has become" because actually I have no idea what they were like "back in the day." I don't recall ever gathering at anyone's house before a prom. The guy just came over to pick me up, my parents took some pictures and we were on our way. But then again I wasn't one of the popular kids and didn't exactly have a "group" of friends. Maybe the cliques got together and maybe their parents came too, and maybe the hosts provided food and drink and turned it into a brief, but well prepared party. That's what it's like now, anyway.

Thankfully I had some idea of what I was in for needed to do after experiencing one of these little gatherings last year. Before the 8th grade dance, we all converged on the home of one of the young ladies in Ian's circle of friends. There, I was shocked to discover a whole spread of food and soft drinks for the kids, and beer and wine for the adults.It was a more impressive soiree than I put on when I'm having a "real" party.

In addition to the woefully inadequate amount of time I had to prepare (damn my full time job!), to add to the pressure was the painful realization my understanding that the kids coming to my house that evening were not any old upper middle class kids. These were Silvertones (members of a select singing group at our high school). And Silvertones is code for "Swarthmoreans." I believe Ian is the token Wallingford kid. The director must have had a quota to fill. If you're not familiar with Swarthmore, which is part of our school district, it's home to the brightest of bright, most artistically talented, and all around green-living, peace-loving and healthy-eating Democrats. Home to the #1 ranked liberal arts college in the country, the borough attracts brilliant Swarthmore College professors who often are married to equally brilliant professors who work at Penn. I'm not positive, but I believe each home in Swarthmore is required to have at least one professor, one medical doctor, or an artist, writer or musician. Basically, compared to people in Swarthmore, I'm a hillbilly with a 6th grade education.

Clean cut, albeit clumped together

Although Swarthmoreans are not exactly unfriendly, I sense they're more comfortable with their own kind. Therefore, I was not looking forward to entertaining these folks and dealing with my petty insecurities. And then there's the fact that I can't remember any of their names when I see them. Clearly this was a job for Rob. And he was in Clearwater, Florida, hard at work taking clients to Spring Training baseball games, expensive meals and golfing. Talk about shitty jobs. Anyway, the point is, Rob was not home.

Rob is a much better entertainer / socializer / networker than I am. (Hence, his job.) He knows which cheeses, crackers and dips to buy, and he always buys enough. (I'm getting better at that.) He knows which wine to pull out of the cellar (No, we don't have a wine cellar. Just a cellar). And somehow he seems to know twice as many people living in our school district as I do. Did I mention Rob wasn't home for this grand affair that I was blowing completely out of proportion?

The older woman...

I'm sure you're anxious to know how it went. The good news is that the kids were pretty decent. One of them in particular, I think they call him D.G., was just about the nicest, most genuinely friendly kid I've ever met. Maybe he's not from Swarthmore. Clearly his parents have done an excellent job raising him. Another good thing about Swarthmore kids is that they tend to not offend my delicate sensibilities, a.k.a. prudishness. No skanky tarts panty-high mini skirts, bared midriffs, or plunging necklines in the bunch. Ian's date was a perfectly dressed, pretty young lady.

The bad news is, as anticipated, I couldn't remember the names of any of them -- kids or parents. And the living room was crowded and clumped with no good setting for a group picture. Then there's the fact that no one ate. I spent $50 on food and I think the only thing that was touched was the watermelon on the fruit platter. By the way, I have to give a big shout out to Freakin' Angel Cathie who made a BJ's appetizer run for me while I was at work.

Now, lest I leave you on a sour note, I should mention that I will have an opportunity to learn the names of all the Silvertones when we spend ten days together in Italy, beginning next Thursday, March 21. I'm chaperoning the group's biennial singing tour of what I have heard is a beautiful country with wine that's less expensive than soda. While I've never been there, I believe all the Swarthmorean kids have already traveled the world. I should be in good hands.