I'm not entirely socially adept.
"What? Oh no, airforcewife! I'm utterly SHOCKED! I thought you had calling cards, wore your hair in an elegant chignon, and had white gloves of various lengths for different social visits! You seem so prim and proper!"
Sure, you know that's what you were thinking. I'm good at hiding the truth.
Luckily for me and anyone who has had to attend some kind of airforcewife sponsored shindig, I have a secret weapon.
My secret get-together weapon is named Melody. She is my former military wife mentor - in fact, her son was my husband's best friend in high school. We ALL need a Melody.
Melody always does things right. Her table is always impeccable and perfectly attired for the occasion, either formal or intimate. She can match teas to personality like an Olympic event. The one time I saw her in gardening attire, she still looked better put together and accessorized than I do when I attend a formal ball.
Melody, to sum it all up, has class. And she's not rude about it, either. She has class without really understanding she has class. Which is nice, because I already feel like a giant oaf with hams for fists, anyway.
Whenever AFG comes home and hints that we need to put on some kind of hootenanny -- oh, I'm sorry, we need to put on some kind of evening soiree-- my first thought is "What would Melody do?"
Melody would probably not go with the Elvis classic rock decor for the General's welcome luncheon. I realized that one just in time. Thank goodness Party City gives refunds if you haven't opened the item.
Melody also knows where the darn fork goes at the table. I know she knows this, because I have asked on occasion. I really should write this down sometime.
But most importantly, Melody has manners. I struggle with this. Once again, I'm sure you're utterly shocked.
"airforcewife, you seem like the very soul of discretion!"
Sure. But you should see me on a BAD day.
It seems to me that a lot of what is missing in the world today is related to manners. Saying please and thank you, and holding the door for the person behind you are just a few things that appear to be slowly going extinct. With a whimper and not a bang, mind you. But in Melody's house, you instinctively reach for these courtesies and practice them yet again. Politics becomes verboten at the table. You wait for everyone to finish their meal before dashing off to something else. There is no reaching across the table, and no cell phones going off.
And it's such a wonderfully nice escape, it really is. I have every intention of trying this at my house someday. I really do.
But somehow I always seem to find some stairs to fall down or some horrible bodily fluid to leak from my nose. But I do try!
And whenever I have some function to plan, I have never been led wrong in the planning by asking, "What would Melody do?"