Not a Clue

Austin and I decided to be social and signed up for our church dinner party, even though we don't know anyone in our ward. This was a highly coordinated event where each table had a host and hostess, different theme, assigned dishes, assigned tables, etc. Sort of like a Mormon Mission Impossible. Austin had been recieving phone calls from our hostess, Sister Allred, (Stake President's wife) all week to prepare us.

When we got there, I peeked in the kitchen to find a homeless woman helping the Relief Society President prepare food. "Hi?" I ventured. "Oh hi!" she exclaimed, coming out to greet us. Even with dirty smudges all over her faces, crazy hair, and a raggedy skirt, she seemed likeable and friendly. "You're not dressed like hobos?!" Okay, and a little crazy.

Austin and I looked at each other. "Ummm...we must not have gotten that message." Could this be the mysterious Sister Allred? She glanced at my decadent German Chocolate Cheesecake atop my Martha Stewart cake stand. "Oooh, it looks so fancy! It'll put the rest of the hobo food to shame." She glanced at our dressy clothes one more time. I hung my head and shuffled along behind her as she led us to a gathering of hobos; I felt like we had been caught trying to out-class the rest of the table as she set our cheesecake next to a bunch of tinfoil dishes.

Just then, an impeccably groomed woman in her 60s came over with a smile. "Hi, our table is right over here!" I stared dumbly at her. I looked confusedly at Hobo Lady standing next to us. I glanced helplessly at my husband, then back at Impeccable Lady. "Ummm, are you Sister Allred?"

I have a suspicion that that is why when the Bishop asked what the theme of our table was, the Stake President's wife said, "We're the Clue table--no, the Not-a Clue table!"