Can You Hear That? That’s My Soul Being Crushed and My Dignity Being Trampled.

Fuck. My. Life. Words can barely begin to even describe the experience of the (please, try to muster a snooty voice as you read.) Annual National Charity League Senior Presentation Luncheon in which the graduating seniors of the ever pleasant NCL “honor” their mothers. Christina, please realize that my presence at such an event sooooooo makes up for ANYTHING I have ever done to you.

Let me begin by saying that a “luncheon” is in itself a painful experience. It’s amazing what three extra letters can do to a meal. My mother and I questioned our own philanthropy in attending all the way up to the Ojai Valley Inn. Now, (perhaps as a deterrent to runaways) parking is down below, and you have to take a shuttle up to the inn. Naturally, once we arrived the golf cart was full, and we took the back seats that hang off the end. This guy in the front tried to offer us his seat, saying “oh, would you like a man to sit back there?” Clearly, not a good omen for the event to come. This was the type of event attended by well quaffed old ladies who play golf and laugh in high pitched controlled chuckles while sipping martinis and wave around their hands when they talk so they can watch their diamonds glitter. So, we went and found Christina, who had to stand next to her board full of pictures of herself. All of the girls were dressed in identical black and white dresses. (Though some were shorter than others…..) My mother and I, if you can imagine, aren’t normal attendants of said functions, so it took a few minutes before we realized we had to go get little pink nametags with our seat assignments on them.

Best part of the day: As we’re walking over, I see Corinne working the table. She spots me and comes running out from around the table, tripping on some cord on her way to hug me—exactly like she did in 8^th grade. We talked for a while, but I wasn’t allowed to switch tables to sit with her, because apparently that was strictly verboten. And so I was stuck sitting with some administrator from Christina’s school, and of course my mother, who I couldn’t look for most of the event because it was too entirely ridonkulous.

And then they herd us into the overly pink ballroom. All of the women involved were wearing this insane matching pink color. The woman doing most of the announcing had one of those “I’m always crying” voices, and I thought she was going to break down over just how beautiful it all was—luckily there were strategically placed tissue packets at every place setting. Then the girls came out and thanked all of their mothers and advisors for helping them become “confidant, well spoken, good mannered, lovely ladies” now that they were going out into the world. Is knowing which fork to use really going to help you out in the world? (the world being Cal State Chico or CSUCI or wherever?) Oh, they also thanked them for being “so, like, positive all the time.” Oh, just shoot me. Ohho, and they made us do the flag salute. Because apparently they love America as much as they love volunteering at old people’s homes. We had to watch this overly nostalgic video of their wonderful NCL experiences, the kind of video to sappy music where they scan over unattractive photos. I kept thinking it was going to end as each song ended, but sure enough they would just begin a new song. Nothing cements a truly painful life experience like 4 minutes of Celine Dion, though.

But no, that wasn’t the end. Instead, they wowed us with a fashion show, dance routines and all! It was actually rather amusing, between the girls who were practically throwing their hips out with their catwalking and the girls who very clearly where uncomfortable and the ones who just sort of got lost and confused trying to stand exactly where they had told them to at the exact right time. In the middle they had this hilarious ballet part where this one girl took off her high heels and whipped her leg into the air, still wearing a tiny dress. My mother gasped and whispered something about her flashing her beaver. She did her little ballet thing and then some other girl came on, walking like Daffy Duck in an attempt I guess to look graceful. And then, finally LUNCH.

Except lunch involved a mayonnaisey chicken salad and some other sort of salad that was so not good enough to be worthy of my pain and random cheese stacked up with tomatoes. The kind of lunch that strives to be fancy but in fact is just hard to eat and not worth the effort of trying to eat it gracefully. I was the only one under 45 at the table, other than Christina’s older sister. At some point there was cake, which was appreciated. Precious quote: “Well, Christina just mentioned an NCL event and I just KNEW I had to be there.”

And then the lights dimmed and the real fun began. The tribute/biography/sappy song, in which a creepy announcer told us how they just lovvveed school and cheerleading and being the class secretary and bonding with their mother and blah blah blah. And then came the minute and a half of “my mother is the best person in the whole entire world” cry fest set to a song they picked out themselves to dedicate to their dear old moms. Things I wish to never say in my life: “And I just really hope to one day be a wife and mom” “and my mom is more than just a mom, she’s my best friend” “I love you more than words can even begin to describe and we’re just so close and you’re my teacher and my cook and my counselor and my friend and my etc etc” Because the powerpoint of baby pictures set to Carrie Underwood didn’t give me that impression already. And then they cried. Each mother and daughter stood on opposite ends of the stage with this creepy spotlight on them, the mothers wearing bad suits and the daughters wearing their prom dresses, and they cried over just how much they loved each other and promised that they would call each other every day in college. Thank you, I don’t want to cry over how my mother has just given me soooo much and is such a strong woman and such a role model and given me my faith and my confidence and if I’m just half the woman she is…and I’m going to Cal State Chico because that’s where she went and OH DEAR LORD WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!!? And then they tottered off stage together, the girls barely able to walk in their hoe heels. And the mothers and daughters had matching hair. Matching 45 year old woman puffed up dyed blonde bob hair. It was terrifying.

Speaking of hoes, there was one lady wandering around in lace up heels and this tiny tiny skirt—definitely one of the better moments.

Unable to take the pain, my mother and I escaped after like 5 of the presentations. Then, of course, the shuttle wasn’t there to take us back to the car, so we had to hoof it down the hill in our high heels (I would have walked home in stilettos if I had to to get out of there)

Nothing that happened in those 3 hours was anything less than stereotypically terrifying. I practically cried to keep from laughing. I feel like I need to go wash the experience off myself by like, dousing myself in whiskey or something. I went into it thinking at least I could get a story, but frankly I can’t fictionalize that shit. I’m not even sure your imagination will do it justice. And just think, I could have been at a speech tournament.