Historically, my luck with social gatherings of unfamiliar females has not been good. Example: when I moved to West Palm Beach I connected with my sorority’s alumnae chapter there hoping to meet some friendly beach buddies. My first (and last) outing with them was a brunch where, upon learning I was an education reporter, one of them informed me, “the problem with the schools here is that the blacks don’t care about anything but sports and band,” while the others nodded their assent as they sipped their mimosas.
After a couple decades of similar disappointments, I approach such gatherings with trepidation now. But a few nights ago I steeled myself and headed to a post-work gathering of expectant D.C. moms. Add in that the D.C. Urban Moms listserv, from whence this group sprang, is populated with more than its share of Snippy Sallies and you realize how additionally fraught with peril this outing was. But there were too many lures to resist, namely, the opportunity to swap information with women in my same delicate condition and cupcakes. (Note to organizers: you could hold a Young Prospective Scientologists meeting at Hello Cupcake and I’d likely attend.)
After a few minutes of conversation and a few bites of my “You Tart!” lemon selection it became apparent that my streak was snapped. The other ladies all seemed lovely, intelligent, similarly nervous and excited, and nobody was being foofy about chowing on their cupcakes. Highlights included hearing about the mother of one of the attendees taking the attendee’s sonogram to a sonographer to have him tell her if it was a boy or a girl after the couple opted not to share the gender. Also, the chick whose husband issued an emphatic warning before she left for the meet-up that she should be careful because there might be guys lurking who just troll around for pregnant women gatherings. There was laughter, there were business cards exchanged, there was genuine well wishing.
All in all, a successful gathering. Even without the cupcake.