It’s the time of year when my woman’s club starts rattling the bushes for candidates for the Board of Directors. As we all know, I am notorious for running-and being defeated for-office, indeed, I have run for office and lost in at least three of the past elections; making me the official Susan Lucci of Altrusa.
So, when the nominating committee came a’ callin again last week, I was somewhat amused, that is; until they revealed the office for which they were hoping I would run: First Vice President. Then I was not so much amused as freaking terrified.
For the record, First Vice President is the first phase of a three-year commitment, ending in the Presidency. I have no desire whatsoever to be President. Ever.
That said, I was flattered by the nomination and, I made sure to stress that fact as I gracefully declined the offer. THREE times.
Seriously, three separate members of the nominating committee have spoken to me personally, in the hope that I will change my mind and run in the election. Which, I won’t because, what if I won? I mean, even Susan Lucci eventually took home the trophy.
And, if I did win, I would enter my presidency the same year that The Teenager entered her senior year of High school. I cannot fathom trying to run a service club while simultaneously suffering a nervous breakdown at the thought of my baby going off to college.
Besides, I doubt the club would have much faith in a President who dissolved into tears at the podium when it was time to present the Apple Award for Teacher of the Month or who fell to her knees, wailing and keening each time a local scholarship recipient was announced, such was her distress at the impending half-empty condition of her nest and, yes; those are two scenarios that would play out in all their snot-nosed glory, I assure you.
So, thank you dear club members but, no thank you. No thank you very much.
Now, I just have to avoid phone calls, emails, texts, instant messages, Skype calls and personal visits from some of the more persuasive members of the nominating committee. At least until they flush some other sucker out of the underbrush, anyway.
See? Freaking terrifying.