Drama Is My Superpower

I decided to do paper invites for my daughter’s birthday party because finding people’s mailing address was easier than accosting them for emails. Plus, 1 person always claims the evite went into spam, and I WILL THWART HER EXCUSES FOR NOT RSVP-ING.

The invites took me 13 hours to make because the beautiful graphic ones I painstakingly designed without the help of Photoshop were either the wrong size or the wrong shape for EVERY PLACE THAT PRINTS THINGS.

I finally found a cute pre-made princess design with purple (N’s favorite color) and ordered invitations. I picked them up the next day only to realize the RSVP phone number was WRONG even though Scott and I both proofed the invitation twice each. I’m not sure which would be more annoying: the person who got multiple calls for his nonexistent princess party or that my friend of the spam-emails could claim she RSVP’d when I know she did NOT.

And then I ran into an address problem. Our school directory insisted that N’s friend lived 3-4 hours away in another state and commuted 5 days a week to go to our school. The family seems pretty NOT CRAZY so I decided to hand-deliver their invite at school and offhandedly ask about Maryland just in case.

My plan was foolproof except I didn’t know what type of car the mom drove, and I didn’t want to give her the invite in the lobby because the party was so small and people have FEELINGS. I kept hoping we would pull into the parking lot to pick up our kids at the same time. And then, one day, I see a car that is driven by a possible suspect.

I jump out of my car with joy, but the driver stays in. I can’t stand in the middle of the parking lot waiting to see if this possible-party-list-person is the actual-party-list-person when I’m really supposed to be going into school with all the other parents and getting my kids so I begin to walk very slowly towards the school door and also her car door. As I walk past the car, I crane my neck like I’m feigning whiplash, but I can’t get the right angle to see inside the car.  And I can’t just knock on the window because 1) I will scare the crap out of the driver and 2) what if it’s not the right mom and I have to explain why I’m taking the party invite OUT OF SOME MOM’S HAND.

I decide to go into the lobby and just watch out the door like James Bond. I realize that from the lobby I have a better line of sight into the car and I become more and more convinced that it’s the right mom. I get so psyched up that I dash out the door to keep her from coming inside without the invite. Except the minute I open the door all my confidence fades and I hurry back inside sure I was about to invite the kid who pulls my daughter’s pigtail out (it was just once but STILL).

Meanwhile, I look so suspicious sprinting in and out of the school that the head of the school runs over to me: What’s happening in the parking lot? Is everything okay? Does someone need help?


I don’t even know how to explain my creepy slow-walk-run-in-run-out-run-in-all-while-hiding-an-envelope behavior so I think: Maybe I should just invite her?

WHAT? My brain is trying to ruin my daughter’s party and then I see the car door open and the right mom steps out. I push past the head of the school and throw open the glass doors while shoving a white sweaty envelope in this unsuspecting mom’s hands and telling her: YOU’RE INVITED BUT DON’T TELL ANYONE.

I’m amazed she came to the party, too.

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