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| I am queen of all the things. Especially subtlety. |
Some of you might recall that I've been having a difficult
time making friends at my kids' new school. It bothered me a great deal. I even
penned an open letter to the school parents at one point, and it made absolutely
no difference because apparently not everyone reads my blog. (Yes, I was also a
little shocked by this.)
I had pretty much resigned myself to only being insanely popular
beyond the school walls when, while sitting in the main office waiting for Gutsy
one day, I saw some pictures of the new Parent Council members.
And I recognized one of them.
And not just any old one - like the treasurer or the fun day
organizer - but the president. THE PRESIDENT OF THE SCHOOL. Holy
shit.
But this was tricky; I had had exactly one good conversation
with her on a fieldtrip late last year, but we hadn't spoken since. I wasn't
sure if she even remembered me. It's not like I'm terribly memorable, what with
my poor verbal filtering skills and great looks and all. But I knew her son is
in Spawnling's class this year, and that would mean she would have to talk to
me at some point, right? Like, even if I had to corner her next to the
chalkboard after craft time, I could get her to talk to me; I knew I could. And
then I could charm her with my wit, or maybe say something inspirational, like
"Be my friend or I'll cut your hair while you're sleeping."
But when I saw her in the schoolyard that afternoon, I decided
to try a more subtle approach:
"Hi, I'm Maven, Spawnling's mom. We talked once last
year and you probably don't remember me, but I see you're the Parent Council
president and that's fantastic."
Keeping it nice and
smooth so far. Good job, Mave.
She smiled. "I remember you. We were on the fieldtrip
together."
"Yeah, and our boys are in the same class this year,
which is great because I need to get to know you."
Easing in. Excellent.
She gave me that
I-think-you're-kidding-but-I-can't-really-tell face. "You do?"
"Well, see, here's the thing: I'm a pretty big deal and
definitely worth knowing, but nobody here seems to realize that because they're
stupid and they don't talk to me. So I need to get to know someone in a
position of power that can introduce me around. Everyone will benefit from
this, especially you. You'll love being my friend. I'm great."
Sometimes you don't have to be very direct. You can drop
little hints, like I did, and the more astute people will still pick up on what
you're trying to say. She seemed pretty astute.
As soon as I said it, I knew that this "I don't know
anybody, so I'm going to make you laugh and then we can be friends"
approach was either going to make or break my career as a school mom. With five
years to go at that establishment, it was a pretty big risk to take. I suddenly
wanted to throw up.
She shrugged. "Sounds good. I'm in," she said.
BAM. And just like
that, I became friends with the it girl.
"You've made a good choice," I said.
"Together, we're going to inject some serious awesomeness into the parent
population of this school. We will be unstoppable."
We're now a few weeks into this budding friendship. It's
going pretty well. We live in the same neighbourhood and I make her snobby
coffees with my espresso machine. I'm her volunteer bitch whenever she needs an
extra hand on popcorn day, and she's been introducing me to all sorts of
people, thus bolstering my popularity and making pick-up time far more
bearable. I make her friends laugh, and I'm pretty sure they walk away thinking
she knows some really cool people with great hair and are a little bit jealous.
We're a power couple, the Bill and Hilary of the elementary
school. It totally works.
I'm not sure what the lesson is in this story. Maybe it's: be
yourself if you're not worried about completely screwing up your social life.
I realize not everyone gets my sense of humour, so that
could have gone very badly. But I tire of inauthenticity - particularly my own.
Life is too short; I'd rather someone know who I am and what I'm like right
away. It weeds out the haters before I
invest too much time or make them too many pretentious caffeinated beverages. (Good coffee isn't cheap, you know.)
I took a chance, made a friend (and a few more), and all I
had to do was be me.
And maybe kind of a bitch.
But I didn't have to cut anyone's hair.
The end.