Initiation French Navy Wife Night

I was in over my head the moment I accepted the invitation. Dinner with big-whig wives of the ship. I have no idea why or how I was included on the guest list. There were only twelve others. Hummm? Ship of over three thousand? Just twelve for dinner? Why the heck am I here? It was like the inner, inner circle of French Navy Wives.

Back the story up a week ago...Upon accepting the invitation, I was told to bring an appetizer. The host (a new friend) told me, "I'm going to do all the desserts." She also very specifically told me, "Bring something casual. I'm very simple. Nothing too fussy. They'll be about twelve of us." And then she went on to tell me about an experience she had with an American friend during her one year stay in the US. This American woman made an appetizer "with just cream cheese and jelly," she exclaimed. "Something like that," she told me. Ok, I can do that I thought, assuming our definitions of "casual" and "simple" were the same. Super wrong. Super wrong, Sarah.

I stressed more about my outfit than my appetizers. As I walked up the big hill to the fancy house I straightened my scarf and felt pretty confident carrying my large bag with my pyrex casserole dish and big bowl inside. The hostess greeted me at the door and right away gawked at my huge bag. "Are you feeding the world with what's in there?" she demanded right away. "Um no."

Totally confused and already searching for words to explain myself, I turned the corner and was in the living room where super-skinny French women were eating crackers the size of a quarter with some sort of fancy spread on them. I quickly scanned the table and noticed that the only things on the table were bite-sized, fancy, rolled-up things. Tiny tarts filled with strange colors. No plates. Just napkins and dainty fingers picking up doll-food from silver platters, sharing courtesy laughs. And champagne...really expensive champagne.

At this point the hostess was still teasing me for the size of my bag and I felt like all twelve ladies were staring at me. I worked my way quickly to the kitchen out of sight---trying not to burst into tears in front of everyone. Why was I having a meltdown? Ummmm, because I brought meatballs and bean dip to a party where everyone was eating caviar and smoked salmon on tiny spoons.

I can laugh about it now, but last night, man, I was a wreck. It's about way more than the food...it's about ALWAYS being an outsider. Why did this woman tell me it was casual? Why would she tease me in front of everyone? Of course I had NO IDEA what to bring to her house, I'm not French. I've never been to a fancy French Navy Wife thing-y. It took me five, long minutes, two glasses of water (believe me I was searching for something stronger) and several splashes on the cheeks for me to be able to go back in the room and face everyone. I thought long and hard about just running. Leaving everything, grabbing my keys and making a run for it. "That will give them something to talk about," I said to myself. But I didn't. I hid my bag in the coat room. I stumbled all over my words telling my friend, the hostess, that I wasn't bringing out my food. Yes, yes, she insisted. NO! NO! NO! I insisted more.

And that's a lesson learned. It's not a football party. It's not a casual girl night. It's not a filling, satisfying meal. It couldn't be any more stereotypically French, so I don't know why I was so shocked and unprepared. It's five hours of sitting and being served and smiling and pretending to understand a culture* so full of itself.

*In my opinion...French Navy Officer culture is something more particular than just French culture in general. It's... high society/big families/a desire to be "classic-French" on steroids.

I appreciated the invitation...and the evening ended far better than it started. Eighty percent of the women there were kind to me. And if eighty percent of the women are nice to you at an event, that's plenty--in any culture. French-Navy wives or American-Navy wives.