I Quit

No, faithful readers (meager group that you are), fear not--it isn't blogging I’m giving up. Nor my day job (I’m afraid there’s some kinda life sentence involved there).

I’m talking about my role as social coordinator for my gal pals.

Now, by nature, I'm a follower, not a leader. But somewhere along the line, I learned that if you want to get something done, best do it yourself. So, for the past fifteen years, I did all the work when it came to girls' nights out and weekend getaways.

Well, no more.

And, it’s not because it’s such a thankless task (which it is, trust me). No, it’s not because of the hassles involved (here, for your reading pleasure, are a few examples from years past):

1. Can we change the date? Something’s come up. (Answer: No. Now that I’ve spent four months’ getting everyone to agree on a date, it’s firm.)

2. I don’t wanna share a room with (fill in the blank here). (Answer: Who you room with is up to you.)

3. I only wanna room with you. (Answer: I’m taken.)

4. I don’t wanna drive with (fill in the blank here). (Answer: Fine. Drive alone.)

5. Can we change the place? Make it closer? (Answer: No. it took a gazillion emails to decide, and I'm not changing it now. Besides there IS no geographically central place to meet unless you wanna spend a weekend in Bakersfield.)

6. Can we go somewhere else next year? (Answer: Yes. You be in charge of the date, time and place.)

Get my drift?

But this is not why I’m opting out.

I got to thinking…I’m the glue that keeps this group together…and, forgive me if I’m wrong, but in chick flicks, doesn’t the glue always die tragically young? Maybe it’s the feeble writer in me, but I’m picturing a scene where, in my absence, the rest of the girls rally around, each doing their part to put together a “memorial weekend.” Then, over champagne and nachos, they toast me with fond tributes and well-deserved remembrances.

Let it be someone else who bites the dust.

I quit.