Little Girl at the Adult Table

Today is the day. It's the ultimate test to see if that one etiquette dinner was worth it. It's the test to see if I'm actually a functioning "young woman"... or whatever I am. I get to go to my first big girl dinner. I'm invited as a "significant other" to my boyfriend's holiday work party. It's not a frat house or the local bar, places my 23-year-old self has gotten quite used to over the years. No, it's a formal, professional-ish party, where I'm probably going to have to shake hands and say phrases like "Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you" and "Yes, the garnish on the chicken is simply divine." (Just kidding - I would never talk like that.) Let's hope my hands don't sweat like they normally do.

I must say, I'm a little nervous. In the title, it says "Little Girl at the Adult Table". I guess I'm not really a little girl. That ends around age 9. I'm 23. Not little. In my head, though, I'm little. I still kind of feel like I'm 16 sometimes, so the fact that I'm wearing nude, pointy-toed heels and carrying a clutch tonight seems a little out of character. Where are my dress up Belle slippers and fancy crown?

When I was a kid, my mom taught me to use good manners. "Can you please pass the salt?" Unlike what my father would do, I cannot throw something across the table tonight. I probably shouldn't burp and then think about high five-ing my brother. Playing with my food is a no-no and it's definitely not a good idea to hide my vegetables under my napkin like I did when I was 7. I'm still a little fuzzy on the elbow-on-the-table-rule though. I'll steer clear just in case. 

So, I'll act how all the adults do when they're at the adult table. I'll tell them my plans for graduate school. We will probably talk about the weather and the roads we took to get there. Hopefully there won't be too much business talk tonight. I will smile when appropriate and laugh when the boss tells a joke. 

Regardless of how my tone may sound in this post, I'm actually very excited. I promise. Maybe I don't feel "adult" enough to go to an adult party, but I'm on my way. It's pretty cool that my boyfriend has a real job and that I'm lucky enough to be invited. 

So, wish me luck. Here goes nothing. Cheers, to being the little girl at the adult table. (But only a glass of white wine instead of that Scooby Doo shot at Landmark.)