Well, I am officially a socialite. Yes, I Erin, am now inches away from mingling with real live reality TV stars. I am trying extremely hard not to let this go to my head but I was invited to a black tie affair in Atlanta by the personal assistant of NeNe Leakes. Yes, THE NeNe from Real Housewives of Atlanta. O.M.G. Right? I feel like I can finally say I have done something with my life besides get pregnant.
A couple months ago, my family and I were on a bus to the rental car place from LAX. I happened to notice this sensational man sitting across from me wearing the most DAZZLING, red, leather boots with a pair of strategically ripped, designer jeans that were probably worth more than my life insurance policy even after Mike increased it following my last live animal purchase. He was so magnificent; I loved him instantly.
I complimented his fabulous boots. He complimented my wife beater tank top and flip flops. We shared a few laughs and I asked if I could take his picture to put on my blog because he was sooooooo glamorous. He agreed, we hugged and eventually parted ways 5 minutes later. He: probably to an exclusive spa in Santa Monica that caters exclusively to the privileged for a seaweed enema and me: to my kid’s preteen cheerleading competition at some janky hotel in Los Angeles that smelled like sweat.
A couple days ago, out of nowhere, I received a message on Facebook from my fashionable friend asking me to call him. Annnnnnd this is when I learned my presence was requested at an important high society event he was planning. I considered telling him I would have “my people” call him just to make him think I was really important (I was actually hiding in the pantry so he would not hear my children fighting over a goddamn Barbie doll in the background in a sordid attempt to ruin the most important moment of my life). He emphasized the words “Black Tie Gala” which was clearly his way of saying “Daaaarling, a woman of your delicacy should not be shopping at Taaaaarget” or “Get some botox (you are 32 after all), have your roots done for God’s sake and go to Neiman’s before you humiliate yourself in front of the elite members of society like the NENE LEAKES.”
I hung up, stared at the phone in disbelief and walked over to my calendar only to realize this starlit affair happens to fall on the same day as my kid’s school carnival, that I volunteered to work a booth for and she is already talking about because she is “so excited to win enough tickets to dunk the principal” and “we can be twins when wear our matching t-shirts” with her school mascot emblazoned on the front and that I can take her home right after she plays in the jumping castles because they make her “throw up sometimes”. I took a deep breath, counted to 10, surveyed the 6 ft. pile of laundry I needed to fold, the sink full of dirty dishes and asked my daughters if they wanted pizza or Chinese for dinner. XO