Too Many Jennifers

I have many Jennifers in my phone's contact list. This time, however, it led to big trouble.

Too Many Jennifers

by Wendy Cooper

 

I knew it had the potential of causing trouble. But I never thought it would come to this.

See, I have all these friends. Well, not all of them are friends, but there are people I need to be able to reach, who are named Jennifer or some derivative thereof, in my contact list. My bestie is Jennifer S. I've got two other friends, Jen B and Jenny F. Then there are the other two Jennifers; one is a Girl Scout mom the other a PTA member, Jen P and the other Jen S. 

Yep, too many Jennifers.

I've run into trouble in the past, texting PTA Jennifer about a meeting to the Girl Scout Jennifer, or agreeing to a lunch date with one, only to get a "what are you talking about?" reply from another. That was only embarrassing, a little awkward.

This was totally different. This was, well, trouble.

It all started with Jen P. She's a volunteer with my daughter's Girl Scout troupe. And she's That Mom. You know the type; can run everything better than you and lets you know what a horrible job you are doing. She may help out. She may not. It all depends on how much embarrassment she can cause you. Problem is, she is very good at doing stuff and when she does do something, it's always over the top and so fabulous, no one wants to be the failure follow up act at the next party, troupe event, whatever. It makes it really hard to include the group when the group, in unison, shakes their collective heads and says, "no way, I can't compete with that."

It makes me sigh. I also makes me mad, because if I ask Jen P to organize an event, she's always too busy, or whatever. Someone has to fail, miserably, before she is willing to step in. I guess you could say she has a Superman complex; she swoops in to save the day. And she's bullet proof. Well, I don't know that for sure, but she does have perfect hair that never falls out of place no matter how much she flies about.

Then came the fateful day, the day of the Girl Scout troupe's annual Mother's Day tea. It's always been a special event, to make the mothers of our girls feel, well, special.

Everyone chipped in, except for Jen P, because she was too busy doing something else and wouldn't even be able to attend.

Good for her. Better for us. Have I mentioned that we don't even like her?

The day before our party, Jen P called me up to say, "What do you know? I'm going to able to make it after all! Isn't that grand?" Yay. Woopie. And who says grand now a days anyway?

She offered to bring something special, you know, to make up for the hassle, and we added two to the food count and made additional arrangements because that's what we do. We'll make room for her for the sake of her kid. Just because of the kid. We like the kid. We pity the kid. We only have to deal with Jen P once a week. The kid has to deal with her 24/7.

The big day arrived. The set up was beautiful, with streamers and flowers and pretty backdrops for mothers and daughters to get their pictures taken in front of. The place settings were fabulous, the girls having gone to extremes to make sure each setting was placed with meticulous care. The food table was exceptional, as we had had the funds to have our event catered. The desert table was glorious, with brilliantly decorated cup cakes and cookies, laid out most appealingly.

I was setting the last cupcake in place. I placed it carefully on the top tier of the cupcake tower, when in bustled Jen P.

"You ladies have outdone yourselves! Everything looks simply divine!" (Again I ask you, who talks like that?)

The girls and the mothers who had aided us all smiled with appreciation and self satisfaction.

Until Jen P opened her mouth again. "But really, do you think that cupcake should go there? There's not enough contrast. You should trade that one out with this one down here," she said as she went about doing the devil's business of messing with our perfectly done arrangement.

I bit my tongue. This party was not for me, but for the girls. I was not going to make a scene and create a conflict. I could let this slide. So, with great difficulty, I kept my mouth shut.

"There, that's better," Jen P said as she stood back to survey her work. "But this will never do," she said as she rearranged the plastic silverware. "Too bad we couldn't have real silverware. Plastic is so tacky."

I opened my mouth to say something nasty, but one of the other mothers placed a hand on my arm to still my tirade.

"It's okay, don't take it personal. You know she is like that to everyone." Jill whispered. "She'll run out of gas soon."

I nodded stiffly. Jill was correct of course. But would I be able to last?

"But this, no, this will never do," Jen P went on. This time she was headed straight to the main table where a large and beautifully arranged flower bouquet resided in all of it's professionally created glory.

"Oh no," one of the mothers breathed.

"But that was done just for us, for the price of the flowers only!" another mother moaned.

I watched her, ready to take umbrage at the slightest insult that Jen P may offer in regards to our centerpiece. We all held our breath as she lifted her hand, ready to unarrange our flower arrangement. Thankfully, her daughter called for her, which distracted Jen P, even if only for a moment.

We all let out our breath together.

And then we caught it again as she turned her attention back to the desert table.

My desert table.

My fabulous, spare-no-expense-from-my-own-pocket-to-make-it-beautifully decorated, desert table.

I intercepted her. "Why don't you take a seat, Jen? We're about to get started." My face was plastered with a too bright smile, my eye twitched with an effort to remain calm.

"Absolutely," Jen returned my smile, fake inch for fake inch.

I relaxed. I shouldn't have. Because it was then that she swooped in, quickly turning the cupcake display to face an entirely different way than the way I had placed it. She deftly tweaked the napkins I had so painstakingly set out. Yes, she made them look better, but that's not the point. She touched. My. Display.

I lost it. Completely lost it. I think I may have blacked out for a bit even, I was so angry.

But I didn't act. Not at that moment. I waited. Waited and plotted my revenge, thinking of all of the creative ways I could cause her pain. Waited until the luncheon was done and we had packed up the left overs and pulled down the displays. 

Everything was cleaned up except for the floor. I was sweeping. She was mopping.

A plastic fork lay in the floor, so I picked it up. Two tines where missing. "Ha", I thought to myself, "wouldn't that be just perfect to pierce an olive. Or an eyeball." I looked down at the fork in my hand. It was then that I quickly formulated a plan. I looked up at Jen as she mopped, and I tucked the fork away in my pocket.

I finished my sweeping, put the broom and dustpan away, and walked towards Jen P, fork tucked behind my back. 

Jen tisked at me. "Be careful, you'll mess up my clean floor." Well, at least her fake civility was gone and her true demeanor shone, which made it so much easier.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to do that," I said, or I think I did, as I stalked towards her.

We were alone. Both of our girls had gone home with one of the other mothers, and it was just us two. 

"Get off of my wet floor," Jen P said. "I'll have to mop it again," she glared at me as she shook her head.

"Why? It looks good to me," I answered her. It did. I don't know what she was complaining about.

"Because, idiot," she started.

She never finished the sentence.

I snapped. I pounced, my fork in hand.

I was right. It did a wonderful job of piercing an eyeball.

We both fell to the floor. Jen P.'s head bounced and made the most delightful thud sound. Yeah, I said delightful.

I stood, as Jen screamed and writhed on the floor in pain. She didn't look so perfect now. I smiled.

Then I called 911. There had been a terrible accident. I slipped on the wet floor. Oh, the humanity!

The ambulance came and loaded Jen P up and took her to the hospital. The police showed up a little while later because someone at the hospital thought the accident looked suspicious. They took my statement. They took Jen P's as well. There wasn't enough evidence to prosecute. Yep, just a terrible, freak, accident.

Jen P sued me for damages, of course, because that's just how she is. She couldn't remember anything, but somehow someone talked her into it because the evidence just didn't match up. Or something like that.

I wasn't worried. The law was on my side. Even if I had to pay for damages, it had been sooo worth it!

 The morning of the trial I was about to head down to the civil court when I slipped up.

I made the fatal mistake.

I texted my bestie, Jennifer S. I told her it had been no accident, that I had done it on purpose and that I regretted nothing. Bwhahaha!

It wasn't until she replied that I realized my error.

I had texted the wrong Jennifer S.

Damn. Of course it was the police officer that I had texted.

I got her reply. It said something along the lines that, because she was an officer of the law, she had to report what she knew.

Damn again.

Criminal charges are now pending.

Good thing Jen B is my lawyer.

 

Author's note: I really do have many Jennifers in my life. They are all wonderfully fabulous people. And all of the Girl Scout moms that I have had the pleasure to work beside have been wonderfully fabulous people. Well, there where a couple that made me a little crazy, but I never, at any time, wanted to stick a fork in their eye. So, what I mean to say is; any resemblance to those persons living or dead, yada, yada, yada. 

Reviews

[CelesteB]

A look at how a texted word could cause havoc. Quick, easy read. Well-written. An interesting look at the reality of feelings within a female circle. Some self-centered people have a curious way of alienating those around them. Maybe a little more detailed, hair-pulling and punching could enhance the story. Good little women's magazine filler potential. Men will get a laugh out of this too.

[Jeff Adams]

Witty, easy read. A fun little piece with and edge. Cooper says what many of us at one time or another wish we could get away with. Maybe she should write not-so-cozy mysteries.