FEARLESS

A last-minute cancellation leads to a last-minute dinner invitation from a lovely lady friend.

Dinner with adults on a Sunday night? Hmmm. Who all is going?

Four women I have never met. Two hours of travel and two hours at dinner. Back by 9:30. Would I like to come along? It will be fun!

Considering myself a fun, last-minute kinda gal, I  immediately think, "No way. Not going."

"Let me call you right back," I stall. "I need to make sure someone can get the kids from guitar."

Good one. I am setting up a gracious, "May I take a rain check?" with my standard, "Too busy with kids." 

Why can't I just admit that I lean slightly left of 'recluse'?  Why can't I confess that the thought of going to dinner and driving two hours in a car with four women I have never met concerns me more than jumping out of a plane at 13,000 feet?  I will be the stand-in. An outsider inserted into a clan of best friends. Accepting this invitation means dropping everything, finding something (clean) to wear, putting on mascara, and making interesting conversation with people I do not know. For five hours.

Not going. 

"Who called?" Husband wants to know.

I tell him. 

"You should go," he says.

Can't do it.  I have to finish putting the gardens to bed, and get to the laundry, and I haven't started dinner, and the kids haven't started their homework, and I need to work tonight and.."

Husband knows.  He gives me the look that is his rendition of Spock's Vulcan mind-meld. 

"You're on Skype this morning telling our kid how proud you are that she keeps putting herself out there- meeting new people and trying new things at college. You never go out with new people. Go have some fun. Get out of your routine."

"I did all that in college!" I counter. Translation: I have misplaced my personality. Pretty sure I lost it in our children and piles of laundry.

"GO!"

I am going to dinner.

It will be served in a barn, at a family fruit and flower farm.  

Dress code? Jeans.

A fun, last minute, jeans kinda gal: I can do this. 

I pull on jeans and a white blouse. Cowboy boots and a shearling vest. Mascara, blush and lip gloss- I am going all out. I am bringing along lots of deep breaths. 

I will be fearless. Like my kid. Like I used to be.

Word-count-interruptus (quing-speak for word count interrupts us:) "You promised your readers you'd keep this blog under 400 words every day. Stick to it, gabby girl!"

Apologies to you, dear reader. Tomorrow, I'll share what I discovered as I reverted to fearless.

QUING HEREBY DECREES: Henceforth fear less, live more.