Not your mama’s Elders Quorum Christmas Party

I try to avoid extraneous church parties, events, and meetings, mostly because the idea of socializing is always more appealing than the actual getting-dressed-up-and-leaving-the-house part, (which explains why clothes shopping is such a drag — involving not only leaving the house but also getting dressed multiple times and staring at my stomach rolls in a three-way mirror).

But now that Dick is involved with the Elder’s Quorum (church group for men ages 18-40ish), we’re putting our awkward selves forward and trying to fit in in this nice Utah congregation. It was always easier in our smaller branches. Here they don’t really need us, not like certain places we’ve lived, like Harlem, where, if we didn’t show up on Sunday, half of church wouldn’t happen. It’s harder here, where we need them more than they need us. (Although they probably didn’t need us that much in Harlem, either. Mormons are amazingly good at getting things done, following the regularly scheduled program.)

So last Saturday we got a babysitter and went to the EQ Christmas Party. There were too many people, too much high-calorie food, and very high (non-alcohol-fueled) spirits. It was great. I read somewhere that smaller rooms are better for parties than larger rooms, so it was okay that we were pretty crowded, and we played some fun taboo-charade type games with celebrity names suggested by the people there. You can tell a lot about a group of people by what celebrities they come up with when asked to write two names down. There were multiples of Hannah Montana, Bruce Lee, and Barack Obama (who — let’s just say my neighborhood is solidly Republican, which is fine, and solidly confident of shared disregard, which is really quite shortsighted but not actually mean-spirited (I think). (Or very wrong, even, in this case, I’m guessing).

In the midst of all this riotousness, three ladies nursed their babies. Right there. In the same room as the men. I sat on a small couch next to two of them. They used hooter-hiders and blankets, but considering that we were 33 people crammed in a tight space, it was amazing! Not one person asked for a mother’s room!

And then it was time for the white elephant gift exchange. Which sometimes is hilarious and sometimes is like an unsuccessful trip to DI. (DI, like any thrift store, can be the ultimate treasure hunting expedition, or seriously depressing, depending on your mood, what you’re searching for, and what kind of castoffs are available).

The two best gifts were:

and:

(Don’t worry, they sell Palin prophylactics, too.)

Someone joked at the end that we all needed to go home and repent, but I was so proud of my fellow Puritans. I think I might have cried on the way home.