Kicked out of the Cardigan Club

22 Apr

Being the good mommy that I am, I volunteered to help on a fundraising committee for my kids’ team. So this new fundraising committee had a meeting, where I met the other two members of the committee, who were part of the “I’m a Perfect Mommy and You’re a Trashy Loser Club” aka the Cardigan Club. You know those moms that give you “the look” when your kid misbehaves? The moms that are the eternally suffering martyrs of the PTA (complaining about ALL the hard work they have to do, yet never have the sense to stop volunteering or let someone else have a turn)? Yeah, they were my fundraising committee. It was a little disheartening, because I think those kind of moms give moms everywhere a bad name, but because I want to be supportive of my kids, I sucked it up and played nice. After about 30 minutes of listening to how they’re SO good at this kind of thing, and how during soccer they did such and such, and how they’re they only 2 people on the planet capable of fundraising, they actually gave me a job. I was supposed to handle ordering t-shirts, collecting money from parents, etc. Easy enough right? I mean, I get paid to do logistical planning for Christ’s sake, I think I can handle ordering some friggin t-shirts.

We “discussed” (and by discussed I mean they included me in emails in which they bickered back and forth in an effort for Ultimate Queen Bee Mommy Supremacy) for 2 weeks over what color the shirts should be. Yes, really. One of them said that black was just too “blah”, and the other said that “white doesn’t hide stains well”, and “green is not my color”. The argued about how much to charge. They argued about whether or not the logo should be outlined so it would “pop” more. On and on and on and fucking on. But I love my kids, so I resist the urge to bash their little blonde heads together. I continue asking for some decisions so I could finish this, I make about 73 variations of an order form, I mean, I put time and effort in to really try to do my part. I smile as they talk to me like I’m a backward redneck. I ignore the snotty comments and the backhanded compliments. After all, I’m a good mommy, right? And we’re all just doing what we can to support our kids, right? So yesterday, I get an email that says essentially, Someone else is taking care of the t-shirts, butt out.I was like, eh what the fuck? So I wrote them all an email asking what was up, what happened, etc. So the reigning Queen Bee Mommy writes back and tells me that this should’ve been done last week and that I obviously don’t understand how to do this, basically I’m just a big stupid loser so they had to “delegate” elsewhere. Speechless.

I don’t know what I’m more irritated by: the fact that these two women, who stand for everything that I hate by the way, blew me off, or the fact that I care. Yeah, there are times that I wish that the Cardigan Club would pay attention when I talked. I wish that I could be a part of this elite clique of Mommies. I readily admit, I’m not a fancy pants mom. I don’t send my kids to private school, I have tattoos and swear (although I never once swore around them, I even slipped in an “oh my GOSH!”). I don’t even own a cardigan, let alone a pair of pleated khaki pants (their official uniform).

Anyway, I told them they could take their fundraising committee and their holier than thou attitude and shove it. Of course, thereby reinforcing their idea that I was not a worthy member of the Mommies for World Domination Club, but I was in fact an imposter, a smoking, swearing, jeans wearing, borderline psychotic mommy with questionable parenting skills. But hey, on the bright side, I’m pretty sure they won’t be asking me to bake cookies for the bake sale.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: