Fancy-Schmancy

It's once again that time of year when I bring out my fancy-schmancy manners and take them to a variety of fancy-schmancy affairs.

Of all the fancy-schmancy invitations that I received this season, one particularly stood out to me. It stood out for three reasons.

One. The invitation kept stressing that it was a semi-formal event. Does anyone actually know what "semi-formal" means? If someone says an event is semi-formal, then you know you shouldn't dress formally, but you also shouldn't dress casually. So that means you dress...how? There's a lot of room in between casual and formal. Should you dress more on the senior prom side? Or should you dress as informally as possible and wear only one dressy item such as high heels or a cravat? Or perhaps you should split the difference and arrive in your church clothes.

Two. It said that upon attending, I would receive a license plate frame. I really wanted a license plate frame, and I hoped I was not being played false.

Three. The invitation also informed me there would be alcohol, including a champagne toast.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Now, I must say that I have been around people who are drinking before. It's not my favorite, but I've made it work. So I was not so much concerned by the fact that there would be alcohol at this event as I was by the fact that I had no idea what was the fancy-schmancy manners social cue for, "Please don't pour alcohol in my glass. I don't drink."

For some reason, the etiquette lessons I'd received as a teenager did not include that particular signal.

I spent a long time before the event, trying to think what the appropriate way to handle the situation might be.

I thought about asking the server to remove my alcohol glass.

I thought about producing bottled water from my semi-formal attire that I would then pour into my alcohol glass with a flourish.

I thought about jumping to my feet as soon as the server filled my glass and yelling, "HOW DARE YOU BE SO PRESUMPTUOUS. I. DON'T. DRINK!!!" And then pouring it all on the floor.

Nothing seemed quite right, so I decided to wait and hope that the right etiquette would magically manifest itself to me.

Upon arriving at this semi-formal event, I saw people who were dressed more on the senior prom side, people who were wearing jeans and button-down shirts, and people who had apparently split the difference and arrived in their church clothes.

"Awkward Mormon Girl knows what to wear when it's semi-formal," someone said appreciatively, and I silently congratulated myself on attaining the mystical state of semi-formalism. I had accomplished this by wearing a blue dress of Little Sister's that was short enough to not be too formal but made out of fancy materials like lace and a fabric I want to call taffeta (but it probably isn't. I just assume every stiff fabric I meet is taffeta).

"By the way," that same someone said, "there's Martinelli's at the bar."

This announcement made me feel even more pleased than I already was. Bar = no ambiguous etiquette crises with servers about alcohol and Martinelli's = delicious decadent soda. The only thing that put a damper on my pleasure was the fact that there were no license plate frames in sight.

That pleasure was further dampened when I was seated and saw that there was indeed a glass for alcohol at every place setting. The champagne toast would be poured by servers at the end of the evening.

My meal was delicious, and the company at my table was excellent, but alas. The whole time, a part of me was distracted, once again wondering what would be the best way to express that I didn't want a champagne toast, thank you.

As we polished off our fancy-schmancy desserts, servers started to make their rounds with bottles of champagne. This was it. This was the moment of truth.

"Champagne?" they asked my table-mates, one by one.

"Yes, please," said my table-mates.

There must be a social cue for this situation I thought if only I could think of the right one. Think, Awkward Mormon Girl, think.

"Would you like any champagne?" a server asked the girl two people away from me.

"No thank you," the girl said.

That's a good way to handle it, I thought. But instead of following suit, I shot out my hand and quickly turned over my champagne glass with a loud clunk.

And then asked myself, "Why? Why did you just feel the need to do that?"

Everyone around me acted like they hadn't seen anything. The server, with confused-seeming pauses, asked if I wanted any champagne and allowed me the chance to graciously decline. My table-mates said nary a word about my overturned glass.

In spite of this kindness, I spent the next fifteen minutes feeling embarrassed to be in the same skin as myself and vowing not to go to another semi-formal event as long as I lived.

Then the license plate frames were distributed, and in my rapture I promptly forgot about the whole thing.