I'm a wuss. Total, complete, utter wuss. If you ask me to do something? And I'm too busy? I'll say no.
But if you bat your eyes, stick out your bottom lip, squeeze out a tear or two, and beg in a whiny voice?
I'll say yes.
And thus I, Coal Miner's Granddaughter, have found myself one step away from becoming Secretary of our Home Owner's Association. An organization I hate, despise with every fiber of my being. An organization that prides itself on its fascist ideals of "No ham radio antennae on your house!" or "No flamingos!" or "No painting your house puce!"
And not only am I about to become a member of this august group, but I'm about to become Secretary. As in, "Yo! Bitch! Take notes! And while you're at it, get us some damned coffee! Cream, no sugar!"
And not only am I one step from becoming Secretary, but I had to nominate myself. Because no one stepped up to nominate anyone else. And the HOA President, my immediate next-door neighbor, and a sweet lady, pitifully begged me to nominate myself. And so I did. And I felt like the loser girl who nominates herself for homecoming queen, knowing she'll never win but wants to at least be on the ballot*.
But this time, I'll probably get elected. And there's no tiara.
I'm such a loser wuss.
*Yes, yes. I did do that. Pity me.