“I’ll pick you up right after work so that we can head to the gala,” he said.

“Gala?” I said.

“Yes, the gala,” he said. “You remember the gala, don’t you?”

“Oooooh, the gaaaaalaaa,” I said. “Of course!”

I did not remember the gala.

Luckily, I had dressed up for work in heeled boots, leggings, and a black dress I wore to a wedding a couple of summers ago, so I at least looked like someone who remembered a gala, even I was someone who was showing all the signs of Sporadic Amnesia.

Sporadic Amnesia is the new forgetfulness. It’s a thing. I swear.

The Palinode picked me up from work and we headed over to a local theatre, the kind that puts on live dramatic productions.

“Are we going to see a play at this gala?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe a short one.”

“Are they going to feed us?” I asked.

“They might have some hors d’œuvres,” he said.

“Good,” I said, realizing that my fishing for information about the nature of this gala was going to get me nowhere. I was just going to have to wing it, and look for clues as I went, and make like this gala event was one I had been looking forward to.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” I said, and the Palinode looked like he bought it.

They handed out flutes of champagne with strawberries floating in it, and there were little rice crackers with fancy looking meats topped with thin grape slices. Professional acquaintances of the Palinode and various mucky-mucks milled around and chatted about the latest government initiatives and their winter vacations. I tried to look casual on a small settee, like I went to these galas all the time, and fidgeted with my coat check token, waiting for clues.

A man nearby answered his cell phone, and, from what I could tell, the person on the other wanted to know what he was doing. This could be my ticket!

“I’m at the theatre. It’s some kind of gala,” he said.

I held my breath and waited for the rest of his answer. This was the key to turning me from some nincompoop who had no idea what she was doing into a person confident in her ability to talk to anyone at the gala without revealing her utter cluelessness. There was hope yet for me to save this awkward social situation!

“No, I don’t know what it’s about. It’s just some gala,” he answered his friend.

So, that was it then. At least I wasn’t alone. And I at least looked the part of a person who knew what they’re doing at a gala with champagne and fancy meats on crackers and boiled quail eggs. Did I mention the quail eggs before? They were handed out on little plastic swords and were about one-fifth the size of regular eggs.

I decided that the best plan of action was to keep calm and carry on and fake it until I made it, so I ate a few asian meatballs, listened to a woman tell me about the latest in business seminars, and pretended like I hadn’t just stumbled over from my part-time shoe store job to snag some free food.

And you know what? It’s okay that I was completely clueless about what was going on, because I looked damn good, the meatballs were tasty, and I came out with more self-confidence at the end of it all.

Where did  a clueless shoe salesperson find more self-confidence in this situation, you ask?

I found out that I’m an excellent actor. When push comes to shove, I can make cluelessness look like whatever the opposite of cluelessness is. Cluefulness: the state of having a clue.

I can act positively cluefull when called upon not to embarrass the Palinode, and that’s a true skill. It’s going right into my resume between Knows How To Turn Down A Quail’s Egg Without Offending and Can Totally Play Falling Up The Stairs Off As Picking Up Her Purse.

you know it’s a bad day when your kids’ art teacher greets you at the door with, “wow. having a rough day? are you feeling all right?” i half smile (thinking maybe i have some of my leftover lunch stuck between my teeth) and say, “no, just another thursday.”

the art teacher looks confused and says, “but isn’t it tuesday?”

i look down at the ground like maybe the answer is spray painted on the tile floor and say, “right, tuesday. that’s why we’re at art class today. because it’s tuesday.” i then bop myself on the forehead (like they do in the V8 commercial) but a little too hard because my head started hurting and i grimaced from the pain. the art teacher stood there and i could tell immediately that he was afraid for my kids’ safety. he looked me up and down once more and i followed his gaze. right. my clothes. when i left the house in the morning it was 56 degrees, so i put on gray sweat pants. now it was 85 degrees and i still had on my sweats. was i a little warm wearing sweatpants in 85 degree weather? yes, but i didn’t have time to change. my shoes were orange flip flops (i’m not even sure they’re mine–i think they’re presley’s–and they’re too big), my blue “no wine til i lose the behind” t-shirt. my greasy, unwashed hair was pulled up in a not-so-fashionable ponytail. clearly i was not pulling off the i-can-wear-anything-and-still-be-smokin-hot look. then i realized something else. i wasn’t wearing a BRA!

as the art teacher and i stood there in awkward silence (waiting for whatever kid i was there to get–for the life of me, i couldn’t remember), i retraced my journey. i had been to 4 different schools, the grocery store, the ups store, the bookstore, hobby lobby and the library–all without proper bosom support and wearing questionable homeless couture. side note: i’m sure the whole “homeless look” is all the rage in paris this fall, but in fort worth texas you can get a free hot meal wearing this get up.

the art teacher smiled at me again and i smiled back, but it was so bizarre. i wanted to get the hell out of there before i could embarrass myself any further. i folded my arms across my chest, hoping to make the fact that i forgot to put on a bra not so obvious.

the art teacher obviously had nothing else to say to me, so to kill time waiting for class to be dismissed i started naming as many types of fish as i could think of (in my head, of course–i’m quite certain that if you start calling out words like TROUT, BASS, SEA URCHIN without provocation, you might get your kids taken away from you–i can’t say that with 100 per cent certainty, but i think it’s a pretty good guess.

one thing became even more crystal clear–i shouldn’t be allowed out in public.

i kept thinking, what’s taking so long? where is that kid? who am i picking up anyway? and then harley (HARLEY! yes, that’s it! i came to get harley!) came running to the door showing off her clay model of what looked like a dog in heat. i saw the teacher’s pitiful gaze fall upon my third child and i knew then that he felt sorry for her. what, with a mother who will go around town looking like she just rolled out of the gutter and all. he said goodbye and i waved. we turned to leave and i motioned for harley to hurry and get in the car. i felt his eyes on me as i opened my car door and climbed inside. one thing was for sure–i was so going to be dinner conversation. he probably couldn’t wait to get home and discuss me over cocktails. dammit! i hate giving people material. still, i didn’t really know what was the big deal. wasn’t it much ado about nothing? so what if i was wearing sweatpants? so what if my shoes were plastic…and orange…and too big? so what if i “forgot” to put on a bra? europeans don’t wear bras. i could be european. in fact, i’m quite sure i am. just not directly. directly i’m from mississippi and indiana and….possibly some inbred community in tennessee–but that’s another story–and it’s adorable. BUT indirectly, i’m very european.

i pulled down the vanity mirror and gasped–and that’s when i figured it out. i knew then why the art teacher had asked if i’d had a rough day. it wasn’t my ensemble at all. it was the fact that i only had makeup on half my face. i had put eyeliner and mascara on only one of my eyes and it was quite obvious. and the makeup on that one eye had smeared, giving the impression that somewhere along the way things had taken a nasty turn. i looked so completely ridiculous that it was hard to look at myself in the mirror. i closed the mirror, turned around to face harley in the backseat and asked, “does something look different about me today?” maybe it wasn’t as bad as i thought. she made a face and said, “you mean because you only have makeup on one side of your face? AND because your outfit looks weird?”

ok, it was as bad as i thought.

so i’m the butt of the joke. what’s new? the only thing i’m pissed off about is that i’m not charging for my services. anybody need a completely ridiculous person to entertain your guests at your next party? pointing and laughing costs extra.

by the way–how many types of fish can YOU name? without cheating.

COD!  Thank you Shauna, for this amazing Three Day Weekend submission, we simply can’t get enough of you!  Follow Shauna over at her blog, Is It 5 o’clock Yet? Or, you can buy her book (yup, I said book, she’s both hot and published, y’all!), Heaping Spoonful.