"Orange is whorish."
I know, that's the first thing I thought of, too.
(before I get The Email, it's a TV reference, mom.)
So for this committee we're planning a Mad Men themed Winter Ball in February in the Hall of Springs, the place where Corey and I got married. It's going to be all swanky with white leather couches and period costumes. We'll have a band that may or may not get bombarded with Bon Jovi requests by a certain super Jon Bon fan, and possibly a signature cocktail (read: gin and ice). I'm psyched. And everyone in the committee is pretty pumped, too. But to build excitement outside our group a we have a radio spot planned for January.
A mass email was sent out to the committee asking for a few volunteers to be interviewed.
We would be asked questions about the committee and the ball.
To be aired on...the radio.
You may be wondering why I have this seemingly irrational reaction to the possibility of being on the radio. I have had previous speaking engagements that turned out to be slightly less than totally humiliating:
- Engagement #1: At a work function I was not asked to speak in front of an audience of children, their parents, Olympic medalists, a Congressman and his aides, but I decided to get up anyway. To tell them I didn't have anything to say.
- Engagement #2: I was asked to do a radio interview on the importance of colorectal screening. 'Nuff said.
I should be banned from any and all speaking opportunities. There should be one of those helper dogs for people like me who stick their feet in their mouths and practically choke on them.
"So Stacie, how do you feel about America's ties with Israel?"
"Um, well (WOOF, woof, woof, woof, WOOF, WOOF)..."
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you."
"Whoopsy, my dog knows I was going to say something stupid. Which I probably did, but you didn't hear it. Good boy, Randy."
Of course I could just try to think before I talk. Process questions and come up with answers and then just....talk. But that's just silly.