I don’t know if it’s an age thing or what, but when I hit my 40s and 50s, I found myself sitting on boards of various clubs and community organizations. I was off one certain board for a while, and they asked me to step back in
because nobody else was a sucker recently.
So, last night we had to move the meeting to the home of one of the other members, a nice older lady. Widowed for 20+ years, I’d put her in her mid 70s. Old-fashioned, salt-of-the-earth, small town style, if you know what I mean. The kind that dotes on her dog when her grandkids aren’t around. The kind that always decorates for the holidays.
Anyway, I’m sitting in the least comfortable chair (because
I showed up 5 minutes late it helps me to stay awake during the dull parts), and during the part of the meeting where they were arguing over the $7.95 in postage fees, my eyes were wandering around and I started noting the titles in her bookcase. Nora Ephron. Nora Roberts. Nora Nicholas Sparks. Wait, what’s that one? I can’t read the title.
I shift my attention back to the group. The postage was for a special mailing to promote some function or another last month, and did anybody bother to budget for the mailings, and how you can’t expect it to be part of normal operating expenses…
I scootch forward and surreptitiously tip my head to the side to read the title.
Oh dear lord, no, please, no…
*ears start tingling*
I calmly look back. The Treasurer and the Secretary are arguing about what normal operating expenses should be, and if we have this event every year then shouldn’t postage should be a normal expense…
And next to “Grey” I see three more similarly styled paperbacks. I squinch up my eyes to confirm what my brain has already assumed.
*eyeballs start melting*
I look up again. They’re still droning on about whether the special mailings postage should be part of the normal office account or entered into a different account, and why does a non-profit community group need so many accounts anyway and who does the books so what difference does it make…
I stare intently at the books on the shelf. Is that… it is, isn’t it?
There are page markers in the god damn books! Actually goddamn bookmarks, just sticking out in the middle where our little grandmotherly, holiday plate decorating board member carefully placed them to find the good parts.
I look up again, biting my lip to contain my laughter.
“Finally, that’s settled. Can we move on to new business, now?”
Yes, please. Let’s.
I happen to like a mature woman with a little experience.