Heels and Pearls

I walked in like I owned the place (what other way is there to enter a room?) and asked the hostess where the happy hour was being held.

"Downstairs," she motioned.

I slid into a nearby chair to change out my flats for heels and dropped my slippers into my favorite, if raggedy, oversized bag. As I made my way down the stairs, I grinned to myself on the inside. There is something truly gratifying about venturing out on one's own. Perhaps I don't do it often enough, because I still get a rush. The thrill of possibility of meeting new people, the surprise connections and acquaintances. The new ideas, new concepts: simply the novelty of the new. This is what I live for.

When I came downstairs into the much smaller-than-expected room, I realized that the speaker had just begun. Perfect timing. A lady leaning against the reception table turned to smile at me warmly and assist me in finding my nametag, but a brief glance was all it took to realize it wasn't there. Confused I began to scroll through my emails.

I promise, I RSVP'd. Is this the Fillmore Room? I'm at the Boulevard Woodgrill?

Reality check--- the email read "this Thursday" but the date clearly read 2 weeks from today. Ha! I was actually attempting to crash an IT conference reception. Lovely.

I laughed with the ladies at the table, and went to option 2. (There were about 4 options for this particular evening.) As I walked back to my car grinning at my own scatter-brained ineptness, I wondered aloud, "Lord, is this a sign? Life has been crazy lately, do I need to just take a break tonight?"

Jumping into my car and heading to destination no. 2, I received various texts from friends: "Where are you?" "We are in the back." "You're still coming, right?"

And then, I could swear it was providential, option 2 fell through: "Girl, sorry, we are leaving. Want to meet at Pourhouse?"

I laughed. Ok, Lord. I hear you, loud and clear. Time to park my pretty fanny at home. Taking the night off, I get it!

Which is how I ended up here:

A little baking therapy, that's what I needed. And I did have the Breakfast for Dinner girls' night tomorrow. Might as well go ahead and whip up some cinnamon pancakes. But dang, I looked too good to waste it. So, I tackled the task June Cleaver-style: in my heels and pearls and networking-best. And of course, I was belting Trisha Yearwood all the while.

"Got a picture of her Momma in heels and pearls/ She's gonna' make it in her Daddy's world..."

I needed this night in. I needed cinnamon pancakes, and the girl-talk that ensued with my roomies. I needed to don my chili-pepper apron, (inherited from Mrs. Elizabeth, courtesy of M'dear Bob) and lose myself in praise music coupled with some good country.

This was really my only a-social night in for the entire week. And I wouldn't have spent it that way given the choice. Isn't it fabulous and comforting and overwhelmingly humbling the way Jesus just steps in sometimes and takes care of us? Gives us exactly what we need, even if we don't realize it at the time? Even if it's not what we think we want?

Even if it's to just slow down, take a little time at home and bake some pancakes.

Southern style, in heels and pearls. Night y'all.