Well, interlings, let’s just say it has been quite the day.

The conference continued today with me participating in a lunch for pastors.  I was under the impression that we’d just be having lunch, so when a man stood up and said “Okay, let’s get the panel part of this afternoon started” I was just a bit surprised.

With that task utterly failed completed, we headed off for our host activity for the afternoon — a tour of a local dairy farm!  Now, I know you’re probably thinking that an exclamation point is not exactly appropriate for the end of the previous sentence. 

You would, however, be incorrect.  Dairy farms are the absolute best.

This wasn’t just any ‘ol tour though.  The owner of the company — and this is a BIG company, ya’ll — gave us the tour himself.  He is pretty well known around these parts — mainly because he has been appearing in their commercials for years.  I’ve been drinking their milk and eating their ice cream since I was a toddler, so in a weird way, I felt like we had a connection.

And yes, I already regret that last line.

So, after the tour, it was time for Andi (today’s Friendly Conference Companion) and I to head to the town I was speaking at tonight.  We were driving along a curvy back road just enjoying our ice cream when suddenly I realized that I was no longer enjoying my ice cream.  I was regretting the day I had ever learned that ice cream existed. 

I was, in a very real sense, one waffle cone away from losing it.

Before long, I uttered the words that everyone loves to hear when on a back road in the middle of nowhere:

“Andi, I think we need to pull over.  I’m gonna throw up.”

The only place we could find to pull over — ya’ll, the only place — was this tiny Baptist church.  Andi went running inside and I was right behind her.  I noticed several staff members standing around, but I just headed straight for the bathroom.  In between feeling as though I was going to die and simultaneously cursing every dairy cow on the planet, I overheard the following conversation taking place in the hallway:

“So, ya’ll from around here?”

“No… we’re actually just in town for a church conference.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep.  She’s the one supposed to speak tonight.”

“Well then.”

 When I finally got myself together enough to face the nice church staff waiting for me to exit their facility and never return, I ventured into the hallway.  And there, to my surprise, stood three Church Staff and one Total Hottie Church Staff Guy.

It was everything I’ve always dreamed that I would get to experience while sharing the good news.  Indeed.

Needless to say, we quickly made our apologizes and exit.  We found the church I was supposed to be at tonight and I promptly went to lay down and try to recover from the Ice Cream Disaster of ’08 (not to be confused with the Great Office Flood of ‘08 from earlier this month).  Thankfully we were there two hours before I had to speak, so I had plenty of time to lay curled up on a fetal position and wonder if my hair was going to look okay that night.  

And, you know, pray.  That too.  Yeah.

After speaking, shaking hands, smiling ’til my mouth hurt and politely refusing any form of nourishment offered to me, we were finally ready to head home.  At some point in our drive, Andi mentioned that things were just bound to get better now that the whole day was behind us.  Relieved, I agreed.

And that’s right about when I remembered that the church I’m supposed to be at tomorrow night?  That one?

That’d be the one where my ex-boyfriend is on staff.

Yes, I think this is exactly what Fergie was referring to when she explained how to have a glamorous life.  One night you’re throwing up in some church in the middle of nowhere; the next night, you’re scheduled to be at your ex’s church.

This is the stuff I dreamt about as a young child when I imagined what I’d grow up to be one day.

In the interest of making sure that some weird dude doesn’t show up where I’m at good bloggy common sense, I’ve neglected to mention that tonight was the first night of a five day conference I’m involved with — to speak about Starlite, of course. Over the next four days, I’ll be in a different city each day. It is part of a denomination thing, which is really cool since we aren’t affiliated with any particular denomination.

So, earlier today, Cate and I (a different representative from Starlite is going with me each day to the different events) headed to the orientation meeting for those of us who are speaking at this conference. I’ve been booked for this particular event since summer, so I’ve had plenty of time to get nervous prepare for it. When I finally heard who else was speaking — missionaries from all over the world — I began to wonder if there hadn’t been some mistake when they asked me to participate.

We had only been in the room for a few minutes when the two missionaries next to us began talking.

“Yeah, I was just down at Hiroshima the other day.”

“Did you hear that so-and-so (who was also scheduled to be at this conference) is detained in Vietnam?”

Um. Yeah, me too. I was just, um, down at the local elementary school the other day. Oh, and, um, yeah I got detained too… at McDonalds.

Seriously, who do these people think I am?

We somehow made it through the meeting and then headed out for the city I was supposed to be at tonight. A couple other Starlite leaders road with us as it wasn’t too far away. On our way there, I noticed on the schedule that instead of being taken out to dinner at a restaurant as we will be on the other nights, we would be joining a host church for a potluck dinner.

This announcement was met with sighs enthusiasm from all in the car. I believe Angela might have actually uttered “Roast beef, gross beef.”

Professionalism is our thing in Starlite. Obviously.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I also wasn’t too excited about sharing a pot of anything in the local church fellowship hall. Before you go thinking that I’m being all uppity or something, let me share the REAL reason: when you’re the guest at a church, people stare at you while you’re trying to eat. Or put more food on your plate. Or make awkward conversation about the teen pregnancy rates in the greater Tennessee area over coffee and dessert.

But this was no normal potluck dinner that greeted us tonight. These sweet women had put together 8 (EIGHT!) tables worth of the best home cookin’ you have ever had in your life. When the pastor told me that we were about to have the best dinner we’ve had in a long time, I had no idea that the man was speaking the honest truth. I counted three types of chicken fingers, nine versions of lasagna and — prepare yourself — 17 different desserts!

We ate, and we ate, and then — just to mix things up a bit — we ate a bit more. At one point, Cate had a brownie in both hands. And actually put salt on my brownie so I wouldn’t eat it and she could have it instead.

I kid not.

So, after totally blowing our diets outta the water enjoying dinner with the church folk, we headed to the sanctuary. It was at this point that I realized that it is never a good idea to eat a lot anything before you are about to do something that makes you nervous.

However, what happened next definitely got my mind off my part of the evening. During the special music time — the second special music time of the evening, I might add — the sweet little southern woman on stage comes off the stage while still singing and makes a beeline… straight for our pew.

She proceeds to pick up Cate’s hand — she picked up her HAND — and sang the rest of the song straight to Cate. I thought I was going to lose it. I seriously had to bow my head in prayer-like state to keep everyone around me from seeing me laugh. I couldn’t even look at Angela, but I could feel her laughing beside me. It was unbelievable.

Cate, for the record, sat there with the most angelic look on her face while that woman finished singing about winning our neighbors for the Lord. When the song finally ended five hours later, Cate leaned over to me and said just what you’d expect to hear from someone who has been blessed by their own personal special music time.

“I’m so glad I didn’t start laughin’ and snortin’ while that woman sang to me!”

Well said, my little country bumpkin. Well said.

Two of the sweetest new additions to the Starlite office — at least in my definitely biased opinion — are my two puppies, Snuggles and Cuddles.  Or, as I like to call them, “no!” and “stop that!”

Seriously, I think they’re starting to believe those are their actual names.

Those who knew me in my BP (before puppies) days, know that I was never really an animal person.  I had a few fish growing up and a bunny that met an unfortunate demise one winter afternoon when my best friend’s large dog decided it wanted a new toy.  I like to think that is when my animal-loving heart turned cold, at least towards dogs.

But then, one Saturday afternoon last semester, no less than 7 Starlite leaders showed up in my office.  I was being a total loser working on paperwork, and they begged me to go with them to look at puppies.  I honesty am still not sure what happened next, but all of the sudden I found myself looking up puppy classifieds in the local newspaper.  Before I knew it, the 8 of us were off to Georgia to look at some puppies.

Our first scheduled stop was at an empty Office Depot parking lot.  After about five minutes, a van pulls in the parking lot.  Out comes the most country-looking man I have ever seen in my life.  He had a laundry basket with him, and nestled in a towel were the two cutest puppies I’d ever seen.

Okay, if we’re gonna be truthful, only one puppy was cute.  The other was just a runt and had weird hair.

Needless to say, I bought the cute puppy right there on the spot.  I put everyone to work: some went to the ATM for me (apparently cash is only accepted in the country-puppy business), some were calling to cancel our other puppy appointments, etc.  One particular girl was in charge of “talking to that man so he doesn’t drive off with my new puppy!  Watch him very, very closely.  Watch him as if your life depended on it, because it actually does.”

Once the puppy was in our possession, we did the most obvious thing: we took him to Target.  We took everything out of Laura’s purse and slipped my 2 lb. ball of fur inside.  I just walked around bewildered that I was suddenly a pet owner while the rest of the girls began throwing various items into our TWO carts.  Needless to say, when we got to the register, I had to sort through the junk the precious puppy items.

I had Snuggles for about two weeks when my roommate started mentioning the puppy I had left behind — the runt.  Each time I’d see her, she’d say something like “I wonder what that other puppy is doing right now without his brother…” with this sad look on her face.  So, because I’m absolutely ridiculous, I called Mr. Country back up and arranged to meet him in a well-lit parking lot to see the other puppy again.

I think we all can guess what happened next.

Today I’m the mother of two bouncing baby boys puppies.  It really does feel like having children… I have to feed them, clean up after them, etc.  They still sleep in a very tall laundry basket beside my bed although Snuggles has now learned how to use the holes in the side of the basket to crawl up it and then jump into my bed.  Cuddles follows suit, of course.

They have an actual infant playpen in the Starlite office that contains them (yeah, right) when they’re at the office.  We even let them go to programs with us during the week as long as there are no girls there who have pet allergies.  They’ve got plenty of outfits ranging from winter coats to actual puppy pajamas. 

And yes, I am still searching for a matching pair of pajamas for myself.  Let me know if you see any yellow pajamas with pink hearts all over them.

I feel like I’ve come back from a long, long trip.  A tiring trip.  A trip in which I visited a foreign country to meet new creatures. 

Creatures who raise their hand to say “Miss Amy Beth?  I need to go to the potty.  Weally, weally bad.”

Creatures who use glue sticks to mold their bangs to their foreheads.

Creatures who drop processed nacho cheese on the floor and then lick it up.

I had 58 of these little creatures in my program today.  Yes, you read that correctly: 58.  In elementary school standards, that’s like having 3+ classrooms full of little girls.  In Amy Beth standards, that’s like having a bad nightmare.

I kid because I have no voice left.  Or will to get out of bed for the next three days.

Oh interlings, they were just everywhere.  They were on the floor, they were in seats, they were pulling on the cuff of my pants, they were in my hair (which, in case you were wondering, took quite the beating today).  I think that a few of them may actually be stored away in my purse right now.  They’re sneaky like that, you know.

To make matters worse, I didn’t have enough volunteers today.  So, I sent a little text to Cate, one of our leaders, and told her that I’d let her off processed cheese duty for the rest of her life I would be so blessed to have her help.  This may come as a surprise to the interlings, but Cate isn’t necessarily the first person that comes to mind when you think about a program for little girls.  Cate works with our high school girls — and they adore her.  Little girls?  Not so much.

Cate expressed those very sentiments in a colorful text message to which I replied:

“Cate, this is no time to be a wallflower!  This is crunch time.  If we don’t go in there strong, they will know we’re weak.  And then they’ll know they can use their little girl powers on us.  And then, we’re TOAST!  You don’t wanna die a few months b4 u graduate from college, do u?  DO U WANT 2 DIE?!?!”

Obviously I will soon be recruited to teach English with my stellar grammar texting skills.

I thought the real highlight of today’s program was music time when we sang and performed motions to the following lyrics:

“I ski, I ski, I ski, I ski… skiing on the Lord’s side!” 

Only to be topped with…

“I eat, I eat, I eat, I eat… eating on the Lord’s side!”

Who writes this stuff?  Seriously. 

Next week, we’re singing a song that goes “I’m gonna twirl, I’m gonna HURL and praise the Lord!” 

You think I’m joking, but look it up for yourself.  I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

I can promise you one thing though: if I have to watch 58 girls lick cheese off the floor next week, I am gonna hurl.

And praise the Lord, of course.  Glory.

One of the more frequent questions I get asked, especially if I’m speaking somewhere about Starlite, is why I love working with kids so much.  I never really know what to say, because the truth is that even though I run a ministry that serves up delicious processed cheese nine different times a week reaches a lot of kids (and pre-teens and teens and so forth), I don’t really interact with them all that much.  My days are spent holed up in my office paying our bills and answering emails and pretending like I know what I’m doing being fabulous.

Until today, that is.

Today, at 3:30 p.m. to be specific, I will show up at a local elementary school as the newest leader of Twinkle.

I think I’m gonna throw up.

Here’s how it all went down: last August, we test piloted the Twinkle program at one local elementary school.  It was a hit — and soon, we had offers from other local elementary schools to bring the program to them.  We selected two additional schools to add to our list for this semester.

But we only had one leader.

So, here I am forced willing to serve.  This isn’t the first time this has happened, just so you know.  I’ve also led both Sparkle and Glow at one point or another.  For those of you who are thinking “oh, no big deal then!” let me assure you that you, interling, are very wrong.

Pre-teen and teenage girls don’t scare me anymore.  I’ve been around ‘em too long.  But elementary school girls… with their little pigtails and Hannah Montana songs… well, that’s a different story.  Those little things could ATTACK me with their Polly Pocket dolls and I’d never see it coming.  I could lose an eye.  Or worse, they could try to flatten my hair with their teensy-weensy little hands. 

OH MAN.  This is not good, not good at all.

I’ll check back in later tonight with a full update if the little darlings didn’t nibble my fingers off while they were attacking the cheese.  For now, I’ve got some crafts to finish and a song complete with dance moves to learn before 3 p.m.  Glory.

This morning, while I was getting ready, I realized that if my mother could see the current state of my bathroom, I would be totally grounded.  To say it is a mess would be quite the understatement; to get to the shower, I actually have to climb small mountains of hot rollers and hairspray bottles.

Knowing that I needed a maid plan to conquer today, I sat down and made a to-do list for myself:

1. Clean my bathroom and bedroom… within an inch of perfection.

2. Clean downstairs of house.  EVERYTHING.

3. Plan outfits for this week.

4. Do laundry first to have clothes to choose from for item # 3.

5. Organize hair supplies.

6. Write in Starlite journals.

7. Get office keys made.

The list goes on, but in the interest of not boring you with my life anymore, I will stop there.  It is perhaps important to note that, at the end of my to-do list, I wrote: “GET YOUR LIFE TOGETHER, AB.  Seriously.  Get it together!”

Oh how I wish I was kidding.

Moving on.  I think most of the items on my to-do list are pretty normal except for maybe #5.  Most people don’t typically find the need to remind themselves to organize their hair supplies.  I do.  And, in the interest of becoming a better person, I think it is time for me to come clean with the interlings:

My name is Amy Beth and I am a hair product junkie.

I wish I could tell you that I only recently acquired this bad habit, but it isn’t proper to tell a lie on Sunday.  I first became aware of my hair at the tender age of five.  I had to wear casts on both of my legs for eight weeks (skipping the story here so we can stay focused on my hair) and therefore couldn’t really move.  So, I started fixing my hair.  It just seemed like the most natural thing to do.

As I grew older, I began to realize that not much in life stays the same.  People change, times change… but the importance of having big hair never, never changes.  Never.  Ever, ever.

Sure, I went through some dark days when I believed the magazines that said that flat hair was the thing.  But the Lord delivered me from those days and He set my feet upon a solid case of volumizing spray. 

Little did I know that today’s events had been orchestrated to work together for my good.  Stay with me now.

Item six on my to-do list involves me responding to journals that the girls on our leadership team write in each week.  Since our team has grown too large for me to spend quality one-on-one time with each girl, we use the journal system to make sure I stay up to date with what is going on in their lives.  They drop their journals off at my office each Friday and I’m supposed to return them on Sunday evenings.  This was our first week to try this system and a quick peek inside of each journal showed me that they had, indeed, written way more pages than I expected about their lives.

However, upon closer inspection this afternoon, I noticed that one of my little darlings had included a drawing for me.  Even though I got her permission to include this in the bloggy, I’m not going to name any names as she would probably be embarrassed for her college counterparts to know that she’s drawing pictures in her journal.  I am actually quite proud of her though, because I think her drawing shows that she really “gets” me.

You see, she drew a lovely picture of me with my puppies, Snuggles and Cuddles.  She didn’t take the time to label which puppy was which…

… but she did take the time to draw an arrow pointing to my head with the words “big hair!” written beside it.

If only the five year old version of me had of known where her quest towards big hair would bring her.  If only.

Some of the girls and I went to see a movie tonight — 27 Dresses.  If you’ve seen the previews, you know that it is about a girl who is a bridesmaid 27 different times.  When her love interest (I’m not sure what else to call him) finally sees her closet full of dresses and asks her why she keeps them, she gets this wistful look in her eyes and says that the dresses represent some of the best memories in her life.

One of the sweeter parts about leading an all-girl ministry is that I get to see a whole lotta love stories.  I see the ones where they fall in love; I pass tissues while another explains that she’s simply fallen out of love.  I open envelopes to find wedding invitations; I buy baby shower gifts for girls I shared a bathroom with my freshman year of college.  I drink lots of bad punch at their bridal showers and I beam when they start walking down the aisle.  I may not have 27 dresses in my closet, but I have hundreds of memories stored up just waiting to burst through the doors.

Maybe it is where I live or the college I went to; I’m really not sure.  But for some reason, most of my good friends from my undergraduate years are now married — many with bouncing babies on their hips.  There was Christan, who made me cry as I watched her face when I gave the toast at her reception.  Brandy, whose cupcake wedding cake was just as sweet as her whole wedding.  I didn’t get to see Caroline’s wedding — not because it was all the way in Texas but because I had a conflict I couldn’t get out of — but have seen pictures that prove she will always hold the title of the classiest bride out of all of us.

There was Meredith who married the happiest guy I’ve ever known; Jessica, striking in her gown as we all expected.   Ashley’s husband met her at the altar with a song he wrote about her; that was the day I discovered you can cry both hard and silent at the same time.  Lindsey was radiant — everyone there that day agrees.

 But the line of brides goes farther back, all the way to my childhood friends.  LuAnne, Casey, Jessica… all happened so quickly they might as well had their weddings together and split the costs.  The there was Ashley, the girl who I tried on prom dresses with when we were only in middle school.  When it was her turn to take the most important walk of her life, I felt like I was almost taking it with her.

That’s only 11, but I could easily — and quite happily – list 20 more. 

So it may not come as a surprise, then, that sometimes I feel like I’m in line with all of them at a theme park.  We’re all waiting for the ultimate ride that every little girl has dreamed about her whole life — her wedding, represented by the teacup ride of course.  As they go through the gate to select their color of cup to spin around in and flowers to hold at the altar, I wait in line.  I can see their happiness and that does quite a bit in helping to take the edge off bitterness.  Because when you truly love someone, you want them to be happy.  You would even gladly let them pass you in line.

Most of the time, I hold my place in line well — no complaining or questioning when it will be my turn next.  Most of the time.  But sometimes, when it seems like the ride operator is starting to let people behind me get on first, I grow impatient.  Emotions start to rise to the surface and things can get ugly, quickly.

But there’s something I’ve learned from sitting in my office listening to stories punctuated by sobs.  What often comes out sounding like jealousy is actually just fear.  Fear that they won’t get a turn; fear that they’ll spend the rest of their lives listening to how great the resort was at everyone else’s honeymoon.  Fear that they’ll keep adding dress after dress to their own bridesmaid closet.

I’m not just preaching to the choir here; I’ll readily admit that I stopped by the jewelry store in the mall last night to look at the engagement ring case.  I want the wedding, I want the love, I want the fairytale ending.  I don’t think there is any shame in admitting that I want all of that for me, too.

But, because I believe in a God who created the whole sense of time, I’m willing to wait.  But the older I get — and the singl-er (?) I stay — the more I’m noticing that the field I have to walk across is full of landmines.  Some I’ve discovered by stepping on them myself; others have blown up pieces of my single friends’ hearts while I’ve looked on in shock.  Simply put, there are a whole lot of illegitimate ways to meet legitimate needs.

And so, we wait.  We stand in line and we wait.  But the saddest thing is that, most of the time, we choose to wait alone.  There’s a whole line of other girls walking in the same pair of high heels, yet we tell ourselves that we’re the only girl standing in that line.  That we’re standing alone, and that the line seems to be barely moving.

I don’t have an answer for all of this.  I don’t have some way to tie it all together nicely with a pretty bow at the top.  All I know is this: whether I’m going to be standing in line for another day or another 10 years, I want to be happy during that time.  I want to find joy.  If I can’t seem to find contentment, I want to at least find calmness.  I want to play with my friend’s babies and wear my cute dress to dinner with my girlfriends.  I want to keep adding pages torn from magazines to my wedding file (yes, of course I have one) and I want to sleep in on Saturday mornings.  I want to take that walk in the park and eat off my pretty dishes.  I want to learn to be whole as one, whether or not I ever become a part of two.

Deep down, don’t you too?

Edited to add: In case this post sounds too serious, it is important to note that earlier today, when a friend suggested we “Saran Wrap” my ex-boyfriend’s car, I actually considered it for 7.3 seconds.  See, I’m still 23.

One of my college darlings, Andi, is spending the night with me.  She’s one of my young-lings living in an overcrowded dorm, and since I have a spare room right now, I thought she might need a night away from the 90-something girls she lives with on a daily basis.

A few minutes ago, after we finally decided what movie to watch (a Julia Roberts one, in case you were wondering), she said she needed to get something out of her suitcase.  She returned with a shy look on her face, holding something behind her back.

“I thought that maybe… I mean, if you want to… we could share THIS!”

Oh interlings…. it is my extreme pleasure to report that Andi was holding an unopened can of chocolate frosting. 

Her maturity just leaves me speechless.  I am so stinkin’ proud of that girl. 

And to think she’s only a sophomore.  Obviously, she is on top of her game.  The sky is limitless for this girl.  Limitless, I tell you, limitless.

Well, I was — as expected — wrong.  The middle schoolers showed up and devoured that processed nacho cheese like it was manna from heaven.  One of our program directors came into my office after her program to tell me that some of her sixth grade girls were using their fingers to scrape the rest of the cheese out of the plastic container so they could get every last drop.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, I raced to the bathroom to throw up.

Unfortunately, I could not engage in a little vomiting due to some unseemly conditions:

 1. We still have no water in the office.  So, had I vomited, it would still be sitting there this morning.  I’m sorry for the visual effect that was just created for you.  You may now vomit if you wish.

2. I was on hold with our lovely phone company trying to figure out why the voicemail service we’ve been paying for the last seven months has suddenly flown the coop.

3. It is hard to throw up when you haven’t exactly had breakfast or lunch yet because you’ve been too busy wondering if you bought enough nacho cheese running a ministry.

 I do, interlings, lead a glamorous life.  If only Fergie was here to sing along.

In other news, the office is beginning to resemble some form of workable space again.  We have two of the five rooms fully set-up and I think we’ll be attacking the other two this weekend.  I am embarrassed to admit that I had to get our high school intern, Lauren, to fix two of the computers for me.  I was holding a tangled mess of cables and cords and beginning to say things like “Oh, you think this is funny, don’t ya little USB cable?  Well, I’m gonna show you funny in a second!” 

When you begin threatening revenge upon your USB cable, it is time to hand things over to a high schooler professional.

I’m not even gonna tell you what I said to the printer cable.  Let’s just say that he was NOT holding up his end of the bargain.

I don’t even drink coffee.

But, before the day is over, I probably will be having it fed to me intravenously.

We got the Twinkle invitations done, all 600 of them.  At one point, when I was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed, my ex-boyfriend called for our weekly chat about why our relationship didn’t work out to say hello.  When I told him what I was doing, he asked if I wanted him to come over to the office to help.

I am ashamed to admit that I said yes.  And even more ashamed to admit that, when he arrived, I introduced him to Starlite’s new volunteers as “This is C, my ex-boyfriend.”

The shame is still stinging, interlings.  But it was all for the children.

So, between our volunteers and my ex-boyfriend, we completed most of what was on our to-do list.  We’ve still got to find someone willing to deal with the processed nacho cheese do a few more things, but I think we’ll get it done.

I mean, do we really have another option at this point?

So, in just a few hours, Sparkle (our program for middle school girls) begins.  We have three schools with programs today.  For those of you who are really weird like math, allow me to present today in equation form for you:

3 middle schools full of girls + first day of Sparkle x nachos = v. loud screaming

I am, of course, thrilled about today.  No, really.  I’m serious.  I think.

 I always have mixed emotions on the first day of programs.  Sparkle is currently our most successful offering, though I predict that Twinkle (our program for elementary school girls) will trump it when it begins again this coming Monday.   Even though Sparkle has been our most successful program for three years running, I always have this small worry that we’re going to walk into those school cafeterias to find no middle school girls waiting. 

Case in point: I remember the first day we started Sparkle at a new middle school in town.  As we drove up to the school, I looked over at Christan (one of my college roomies and the first Sparkle director ever) and said “There will be no girls waiting in that cafeteria.  Just wait and see.”

She, of course, replied “You always say that.  You’re always wrong.  Just wait and see.”

Sure enough, we walked in to find 198 girls waiting for us. 

So, I’m going to take a deep breath and believe that, as always, there will be a bunch of girls waiting for us at each of these schools this afternoon.

And, I’m going to pray that we bring enough cheese.  Because the only thing that frightens me more than having no girls show up is realizing that we didn’t lug enough cheese along with us.

 Because I think we all know that no middle school girl should ever have to eat tortilla chips without plenty of disgusting delicious cheese to dip them in.  As long as I am alive, I will work towards the goal of providing free processed nacho cheese to every young girl I meet.

Amen.